


Book One: Year One

by EdgarAllenPoet



Series: wolf!verse [1]
Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Child Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, High School, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Like really slow, Parent-Child Relationship, Slow Burn, Violence, found family trope, long fic, pete wentz is a fairy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 02:41:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 64,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17572760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EdgarAllenPoet/pseuds/EdgarAllenPoet
Summary: “Werewolves are now what homosexuals were in the seventies, civil rights movements and all, but this isn't a story about that. This is a story about five separate people living in a society that's being shaken with change.Spencer turns into a werewolf, and then he meets Jon, and eventually five angry, messed up kids turn into a wolfpack, or a family, depending how you look at it. But before things fell into place, this is where it started.”





	Book One: Year One

**Author's Note:**

> This is a complete rewrite of the original wolf!verse I posted in 2014. You're going to find a lot in common here, but way way more that is different. 
> 
> You cannot imagine how much this story means to me. I hope it does something for you.

**Some Website Article  
******Some author; 11/16/2014  
****In a tumultuous time of change and social reform, a new group joins the battle.  Werewolves are hitting the world by storm, announcing their presence and their pride, fighting off the ridicule that comes with it.  It’s not safe for anyone out there, even miles away from the riots and speeches. Most wolves elect to stay hidden away. Some of them just… disappear.

_While some believe them to be monsters, others don’t believe they exist at all.  But there is proof beyond a reasonable doubt that this ancient race has always been here, coexisting with humans in secret and making up integral parts of communities.  Humans do their best to ignore it or to fight it, and if someone’s kid disappears very suddenly… well, nobody likes to talk about it. The parents are treated with sympathetic silence as they keep their own children at a distance, lest it be catching._

_Is it lies or lunacy?  It’s hard to say. Werewolves make up a subculture that humans are trying hard not to recognize, but heaven knows nobody goes out on full moons anymore._

* * *

* * *

 

**September**

It was a very ordinary Friday, and Spencer was having a good day.  He idled around the mall, nervous about making the time they had set when they hadn’t bothered to lay down a meeting place.  He spotted her standing by the fountain and smiled wide, relieved, and headed over. He might have tripped slightly in his final steps approaching her, but nobody noticed, and even if they did it wasn’t anybody’s business anyways.  Haley had been preoccupied with a flyer taped to a nearby map display. Cool guy image: maintained.

 

She hugged him when he approached, and he was honestly pretty giddy about it.  She fit perfectly into his arms, just tall enough to stand on her tiptoes and tuck her chin into his shoulder.  Spencer Smith had a girlfriend, and it was kind of a miracle.

 

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he said, pulling back and sticking his hands in his pockets when he didn’t know what to do with them. “Mom insisted on dropping my sisters off at dance before driving me here.” He rolled his eyes, trying to demonstrate that he thought dance classes and sisters were both totally annoying, and that he would rather spend time with Haley than in a car with his family.  Hopefully she got the message.

 

She smiled and started to walk.  He followed her.

 

“That’s alright, I just got here a few minutes ago. You know, you should really get your license.”

 

“I have my permit,” he shrugged. “I’m working on it.  Not like they’d let me borrow the car too often anyways.  I’d just be stuck driving the twins around.”

 

They both laughed, awkwardly, the way you do when you aren’t sure what else to do with the air.

 

“So where are we going?” he asked her, biting his lip to keep from smiling too much, because seriously, he’d been going out with Haley for two months and his astonishment hadn’t worn off yet. He, Spencer Smith, had a girlfriend. They'd gotten together after an impromptu date at the county fair in July, and he'd been walking on air ever since.

 

“I thought we could just walk around,” she offered, holding her hand out to him. He intertwined their fingers and smiled some more.  Her nail polish was dark and crimson, with glitter that caught the light and sparkled.

 

“Whatever you want.”

 

Bumming around the mall got boring after a while, and they quickly found themselves loitering on the sidewalk outside of the food court, making faces at people through the window to see if they could startle them. When a security guard came over and frowned at them, they headed off, opting to take the bus back towards home.  The original plan had been for Haley’s parents to pick them up, but so long as they made it back on time, she said they wouldn’t mind the change. There had been rumors around about the town initiating a curfew, for safety purposes, but there hadn’t been a decision yet and Spencer’s parents weren’t terribly paranoid about such things.

 

There was a park a few blocks from the first stop in town that they settled on.  It was empty, so they goofed around like children on the playground for a while, laughing and chasing each other.  Spencer couldn’t quite fit in the upper part of the playhouse to chase Haley free, but she also wasn’t tall enough to climb up a tree and catch him.

 

Haley eventually trapped him at the bottom of the slide, and they traded hesitant kisses for a little while.  Soon enough they were making out on the slide, Haley perched with one knee on either side of Spencer’s hips, her hands in his hair, his hands on her back. They had their tongues in each other's mouths, and Spencer was half convinced in that moment that magic actually existed.

 

She pulled back a little while later for air. “Have you ever done this before?” she asked.

 

Spencer, to his defense, was lacking oxygen in his brain. “Been to a playground?”

 

Haley laughed. She had an amazing laugh. She traced her thumb over his cheekbone and leaned in close. “No, stupid. Have you ever done _this_ before?”  

 

He darted his tongue over his lips and shook his head, glancing up to look her in the eyes and going a bit cross-eyed.  “N-no, um,” he breathed out, pulse pounding in his throat. “This is kind of a first for me.” So much for his cool guy facade.  She smirked.

 

“That’s okay, you’re doing good.” She leaned in and kissed him again, and he obligingly let his eyes slide closed and kissed back.

 

“Have you?” he mumbled against her mouth.

 

“I had a boyfriend last year.”

 

Spencer was curious. Was that boy better at kissing than Spencer was? Where did they meet? Why’d they break up? How much did he do? How much was Spencer expected to do? Did Haley make out with the other boy at a playground too? There were so many pressing questions, but Spencer didn’t get to ask any of them with their mouths pressed together like this, tongues sliding over each other. She tugged gently on Spencer’s hair and he opened his mouth a tiny bit more. When she flicked the tip of her tongue just barely over Spencer’s, his brain just about cut out altogether and his entire body went tense.

 

Her hands slid down from Spencer’s hair to his shoulders, his sides. They stopped on his hips and she ducked her head a little to kiss a spot on Spencer’s neck.

 

“Oh.”

 

Spencer’s voice came out without his intention, and he blushed. He hated the way his whole face and neck heated up when he was embarrassed.  He was such a loser. Who just said things like that when someone kissed their neck? He probably seemed like a total virgin and she was gonna think he was an idiot and leave.

 

Instead, though, he felt her smile against his skin, and then she nipped at a spot under Spencer’s jaw. _Oh_ , Spencer thought again, but thankfully didn’t say that.

 

Instead he squeezed her hips where he was holding her and murmured, “Don’t leave a mark,” because his mom would seriously kill him if he came home with a hickey, and he’d rather stay alive long enough to do this again. And again. And again.

 

“I’ll be careful,” she said, pressing a kiss to the hollow of Spencer’s throat, making his breath hitch again. Then she moved back up him and they were back to kissing. They were eager, with hands sliding nervously everywhere except for a few places they were too scared to go. It was inexperienced and slobbery.  Teeth bumping. Kind of gross. Spencer didn’t want to stop ever.

 

Her hands stopped on Spencer’s sides, and Spencer felt kind of brave, using one hand to tug gently on her hair the way she had to him. He tugged a bit harder than he meant to though, and was about to apologize because this was his girlfriend and he was supposed to be gentle. But then she moaned, and Spencer didn’t know he could get hard that quickly.

 

She went back to kissing his throat, gentle fingers pulling the collar of his t-shirt down to get at his collar bone and near his shoulder. Spencer hadn't known that collar bones were sexy. He pulled her hair gently again, because it seemed like the right thing to do.

 

And then several things happened at once.  A car that had been in the parking lot- one they’d figured was empty and elected to ignore- backfired as it started up.  The sound was like a gunshot, and it would have startled the hell out of them even if they hadn’t been on edge.

 

At that same moment, however, pain had erupted in Spencer’s shoulder.  Bright, fiery pain like nothing he’d ever experienced before, burning so intensely that Spencer couldn’t stop himself from reacting to it.  A noise like a choked off cry broke out of his throat as he shoved her away, reaching up towards the source of the pain and scrambling back.  Had something stung him? Had he been fucking shot?

 

It took him a moment to put everything together, to connect the noise (car in the parking lot) and the sudden pain (still a mystery) and the way Haley was staring at him, eyes peeled wide and face absolutely frantic.  She opened her mouth to say something, and there was blood on her teeth.

 

Spencer looked down at the pain and pulled his hand away, found shiny wet fingers, a quickly spreading blood stain on his t-shirt, and a white hot realization.

 

“Y-you bit me!” he cried with a voice an octave higher than it was supposed to be.  He yanked down the collar of his shirt to inspect it, but the fabric caught the wound, and his vision went white.  He hissed, curling in on himself before scrambling off the slide and getting his feet under him. He couldn’t figure out what was happening, if it had been some sort of freak accident or some weird sex thing he didn’t know about, and he was considering asking when he looked up and noticed something.

 

Haley had backed up, and even where she was standing in the shadows Spencer could make out the differences.  The hunch of her shoulders, the strange angel of her facial features. Her teeth were still coated in blood, but what he hadn’t noticed earlier was that they were pointed.  They were _canines_.  Most noticeably, however, was her eyes which glowed such a bright golden in the low light that they might have been headlights.  

 

Spencer had seen enough safety videos to know what was going on.  He spared a glance at the sky, where through a break in the trees he could see the moon shining down at them.  It was large but it wasn’t full; that had been a few days ago, and he remembered because he’d stayed inside. Everyone had.  It was just common sense these days.

 

He looked back at her, and found her staring at her hands with a horrified expression on her face.  Spencer followed her gaze, and saw fur, and claws, and he was pretty sure he was going to pass out. He opened his mouth again to ask her if she was okay, or what was going on, or _something_ , but as soon as he did, she glanced between him and the nearby road, and then took off into the trees.

“Wait!” he yelled, going to run after her and feeling his legs turn to jelly.  They collapsed underneath him, and he had no choice but to catch himself and yell after her,  “Haley! What the fuck!?”

 

Spencer wasn’t exactly an expert on getting bitten by werewolves and how much it was supposed to hurt, but this felt like fire.  Flaming, skin melting fire, and he couldn’t even feel the wound exactly anymore, just an overwhelming throbbing taking over his entire left side.  Blood soaked through his shirt, hot against goosebump skin.

 

He pulled his shirt down to look at it again and hissed when the cold air hit.  His hands were covered in blood, and they were shaking. No, actually, all of him was trembling. He had to be in shock or something.  He got his feet underneath him and shoved off the playground equipment, wondering whether he’d left blood on it and whether they’d track his DNA and come and arrest him.  It had to be illegal, right?

 

He had to get out of there, then, before the cops showed up or Haley came back.  He couldn’t feel his feet, but he kept moving until he tripped over the edge of the sidewalk and stumbled right into somebody walking by.

 

“Shit!” the guy said, and Spencer vaguely registered something splashing on the ground around their feet and a few rushed out apologies, but then there were hands grabbing at his arms and his reality slammed back into him.  “Hey, man, are you bleeding?”

 

Spencer’s head snapped up and his vision swam.  They were on a back street, somewhere, where the town faded into houses and forest and parks.  If they were too loud someone would come outside to investigate, but they’d have to turn a light on. It was too dark to see anything, and the man standing in front of Spencer was painted with shadows. Frightened, he scrambled back again, this time falling sideways off the edge of the sidewalk and landing on his ass. He leapt to his feet and scrambled back.

 

“Stay away from me!” he demanded, trying to keep his voice down and barely managing in his panic.

 

The man held his hands up placatingly and took a cautious step forward.  “I’m not going to hurt you…”

 

Spencer scrambled back again, this time bouncing off the side of a parked pickup truck.  His shoulder crashed into the mirror, and he hissed in a breath.

 

“Ow!"

 

“Did that girl just bite you?” the man asked, looking after where Haley had run off into the trees.  He tilted his head up and… sniffed the air? Spencer felt woozy.

 

“I’m fine,” he lied. “It doesn’t hurt that bad.”

 

The guy interrupted- “Let me see”- and stepped in too close for comfort.  Spencer didn’t have anywhere to go, backed up against someone’s mammoth of a pimped up Ford.  Giant wheels and painted over rust and step guards digging into Spencer’s legs.

 

Spencer shoved the guy back. “What!? No way! Fuck off!”

 

“Charming,” he replied calmly. “Really. I’m trying to help you. If that girl’s a werewolf then you could be in serious trouble.”

 

Spencer’s heart skipped over in his chest.  Werewolves… didn’t actually exist. Or they did, obviously, but not here.  Those self-proclaimed werewolves on TV were all attention seekers, and the public safety announcements and lectures at school were about… they were about _monsters_ .  Not _girlfriends_.  Not people that actually worked and lived and went to school in Spencer’s town, a town that was too small to matter to anyone outside the bowl of the mountains.

 

It wasn’t real, and that was the only way to look at it.  Because if you didn’t believe they were fakers you had to believe they were real, and if they were real then it was a lot harder to hide from the monsters.

 

But werewolves didn’t exist here, not in small towns that minded their business and didn’t ask for trouble.  And if werewolves did exist here, they were the descent kind who didn’t go around biting innocent people. And if they did go around biting innocent people, well God dammit they didn’t pretend to be your girlfriend before they did so.

 

Spencer didn’t make a move to stop the guy from approaching him and tugging Spencer’s shirt down to look at the bite.  Spencer hissed again, pain shooting through him, and the guy gave him a look that might even be considered sympathetic as he gripped the fabric with two hands and tore.  Now there wasn’t fabric sticking to it, but it also exposed the wound to the freezing air. Was it freezing? Spencer was shivering.

 

“So?” he asked, head starting to spin.  He wanted to go home.

 

“What’s your name?”  

 

“Spencer,” he said, and closed his eyes.  He heard the sound of tearing fabric, then moments later an up-close sound of someone snapping right in front of his face.  He blinked his eyes open.

 

“Don’t go passing out on me, Spencer,” the guy said, holding a strip of green fabric between his teeth and winding the rest around his hand.  Spencer looked down at his shoulder and bit his lip. It was red and swollen, blood everywhere and making a mess. The guy swore quietly under his breath. “We need to go see Zack. He might be able to help with this.  Hold your arm up for me.”

 

He took it upon himself to manhandle Spencer around, wrapping his torn off fabric tight around the wound and making Spencer choke back both a shout and vomit.  He swallowed hard, shuddering. The stranger muttered and apology and something about stopping the bleeding as he tied the knot off.

 

“Who’s Zack?” Spencer asked, stumbling a bit as his vision started to dance again.

 

The guy stepped in closer and caught him, slinging Spencer’s good arm around his shoulders and hauling him up.  “My alpha,” he answered, hooking an arm around Spencer’s waist and leading him away. Spencer tripped over his feet and didn’t even try to protest.  The word alpha didn’t make a lot of sense to him though. It sounded like another creepy sex thing, or something on the cover of one of his mom’s magazines.  Spencer didn’t know what an ‘alpha male’ was, and he’d never bothered to open the pages of Cosmo to find out. But why was he thinking about women’s magazines at a time like this, anyways?  He could barely focus enough to walk. His head was dizzy. He might throw up.

 

“Who are you?” he asked instead to pull himself back to reality, following the guy down the road and through a gravel alley between strangers’ backyards.

 

“My name’s Jon,” the guy said. “Come on, let’s hurry.”

 

Right, hurry.  Spencer followed Jon down the street, and there wasn't anybody out walking around to give them a second glance.  Bleeding profusely and on the verge of passing out, Spencer disappeared into the night with a total stranger.

 

* * *

 

 

Zack was bigger than Spencer expected him to be, dressed in cargo shorts and a t-shirt, with buzzed blonde hair and a baffled expression. He was sitting on the couch when Jon dragged Spencer inside, and Spencer didn't see how tall he was until he stood up and loomed over them.

 

“Who’s this?” the man asked.

 

Jon kicked the door closed behind them and somehow kept them both upright.  He answered, “He just got bit. Can I get some help?”

 

There was some small voice in the back of Spencer’s mind telling him that following a stranger to a house with a large man waiting inside, and then letting the stranger lock the door behind him, was a really dangerous and stupid idea.  But Spencer wasn’t really the prime demographic for getting kidnapped, and Jon seemed legitimately concerned for him. When Zack nodded and steered Spencer into the kitchen, it was gentle and Spencer got the feeling that he didn’t have to be scared of these guys.  Maybe he was just delirious. He still felt pretty dizzy.

 

“Sit down, kid, you’re swaying.”

 

Spencer didn't hesitate before obeying, dropping himself down into a nearby chair at a kitchen table and nearly falling off sideways.  Jon came into view again and peeled Spencer’s shirt off, leaving it hanging around his neck. Then he untied the makeshift bandage he’d fastened earlier, grimacing and tossing it into the sink with an unearthly ‘squelch.’  Spencer’s stomach tossed again.

 

He felt kind of stupid, sitting there with his shirt off in front of total strangers, but his head also felt really swimmy, so he was a bit preoccupied.  He should have sat up a bit straighter, but that took energy, and Spencer was putting all of his energy into not passing out.

 

The guy named Zack set a bag on the kitchen table next to Spencer and knelt down in front of him, looking closely at the wound.  Wound. Blood. Oh my God. Spencer divided his energy, half into staying conscious and half into not throwing up on Zack.

 

“Definitely a werewolf,” he said, getting a bottle and some cotton balls out of the bag and pouring whatever was in the bottle onto them.  He was... was he sniffing Spencer? He was sniffing Spencer.

 

“This is gonna hurt, so bear with me,” he warned, then pressed the cotton to Spencer’s cut, and Spencer almost screamed. He pressed his fist to his mouth so that he wouldn’t, and he felt a hand rubbing his back which he assumed was Jon’s. It was warm and dry where Spencer was sweaty.

 

“Female werewolf,” Jon said. “She was a kid, borne too.  Has to be with a pack, though, Pete hasn’t mentioned any strays hanging around.”  Zack nodded.

 

“She’s my girlfriend,” Spencer said, still feeling dizzy as Zack wiped the skin clean and fastened a large square of gauze to the bite.  He taped it in place.

 

“This what you kids do for fun these days?” he asked dryly, and Spencer had a feeling he wasn’t supposed to answer that question. “It’s going to bleed a lot, but we can’t know for now whether you’re changed.  These wounds heal fast, so if you are, stitches will be pointless anyways.”

 

“Changed?” Spencer asked.

 

“Here, let’s clean you up some.” Jon moved in with a wet washcloth and wiped the blood off of Spencer’s chest and neck gently. Spencer watched him as he picked up one of Spencer’s hands and wiped the palm. His hands were all bloody and dirty.  Some off the blood had gathered at a fold in Spencer’s stomach and made a line, and Jon wiped it away. Spencer had never been so embarrassed in his life, and he wanted to die.

 

He watched as Jon rinsed off the rag and then flinched back when Jon tried to wipe his face with it.

 

“Hey!”

 

“There’s tracks down your face,” Jon said calmly, one warm hand on the back of Spencer’s neck to keep him still, the cloth scrubbing gently. “You were crying.”

 

“No I wasn’t,” Spencer replied indignantly, still blushing.  Jon put the cloth down and pulled Spencer up to his feet.

 

“We’ll need to let him borrow a clean shirt.  We can’t send him home like this,” Jon said.

 

Spencer heard them talking around him, but it was suddenly much harder to hear.  He felt everything start to spin again and watched as the edges of his vision filled with black.  He blinked to try and get it to go away, but suddenly the floor tip sideways, and before he could do anything about it, it flew out from under him and he heard a voice yelling “Catch him!”

 

Somebody did.   Spencer could feel them haul him up and then he was entirely off the ground.  He felt himself get carried somewhere and vaguely thought that they shouldn’t have been able to hold him that easily.

 

“Well… damn….”

 

“Yeah, well that’s just great. I guess he’s sleeping here tonight.” The voice was deep and rumbled like thunder against Spencer's ear.  He imagined that his head was resting against someone's chest. He would have demanded to be let down if he could figure out how to speak or open his eyes or move.

 

“At least we can keep an eye on him.  He’s going to be pretty fucked up when he wakes up again.  I think he’s in shock.”

 

“I don’t like this, Jonathan.  I thought we left behind this bullshit in Chicago.”

 

“I didn’t exactly plan on picking up a stray tonight, Zack.”

 

Spencer felt something soft and solid underneath him, but his head was pounding and he couldn’t figure out how to open his eyes.

 

“He’ll be okay. We’ll just figure it out in the morning.”

 

“Poor kid.”

 

Somebody sighed. “Yeah. I’ll stay with him.”

 

“Don’t forget to get some sleep, pup.”

 

“Yeah, sure.”

 

 _What a weird nickname,_ Spencer thought, and then he was asleep.

 

* * *

 

 

Spencer woke up and everything felt off.  He yawned, and his eyelids stuck as he blinked them open. The room around him was unfamiliar, and it took his sleep-muddled brain a minute to figure it out.  Everything felt weird, and everything hurt. He went to stretch, and his body didn’t respond properly. He looked down and saw paws instead of arms. He panicked.

 

What was supposed to come out as a scream sounded more like a bark and Spencer tried to stand up but instead hit the ground.  Next thing he knew there was someone was on top of him, pinning him down. Instinct took over and he tried to bite but got a forearm pressed to his throat for his efforts.  He thrashed.

 

“Calm down! Calm down, it’s okay,” the guy said. “Breathe, Spencer. I need you to focus for me, okay bud?" Spencer growled, honest to God growled, and he wasn't sure how that noise had even come out of him. His heart was pounding, and his head _ached_ , and everything was too loud and too bright and the person on top of him had showered a few hours ago and used cucumber scented Head & Shoulders and _why did Spencer recognize that?_  Something was seriously wrong with him.  He was… was _sick_ or something, and he had absolutely no idea where he was.  The person on top of him moved, tucked his head against Spencer’s neck.  He said, "C'mon puppy, calm down. Think about being a human, okay Spence?  Think about what you look like, can you do that for me?”

 

Spencer didn’t have a lot of options, so he did as he was asked, and within a minute he found himself back to normal in his normal body.  The guy carefully climbed to his feet and helped Spencer up.

 

Jon. Spencer remembered his name. He remembered the kissing and Haley and the weird man and all the blood that had been all over him and being in someone's kitchen and... and suddenly he felt like crying.

 

“What time is it?” His voice sounded rough. He was dressed in a t-shirt that wasn’t his and a pair of boxers that were.  His clothes were twisted and out of place from… from whatever had just happened to him. He straightened them, wrapped his arms around himself, and sat down heavily on the couch.

 

“Seven,” Jon said, sitting next to him. Spencer’s jeans were folded nicely on the coffee table with his shoes and a glass of water, which Jon picked up and pressed into his hands.  He wasn’t sure what had happened to his shirt from the night before, but it had been ruined anyways.

 

“Is he okay?” another man asked, appearing in the doorway and leaking concern. Spencer took a moment to remember his name.

 

Right.  Zack. The alpha, whatever the hell that meant.

 

“He’s fine,” Jon said. “Just changed while he was sleeping and freaked himself out. He’s okay.”

 

“Well, that’s _that_ then,” Zack said, walking into the room. He sat down in an arm chair across from Spencer, leaning in on his elbows.  Spencer eyed him cautiously and leaned away. He was starting to feel awfully caged in, sitting between them. “Let me look at the bite real quick. See if it’s closed up.”

 

Spencer pulled his shirt up and his arm out of the sleeve to show off his shoulder, which didn’t hurt hardly as much as he remembered. Zack carefully pulled the bandage off to look and then nodded. Spencer looked away, feeling sick again.  He looked around the room, and at Jon, to distract himself. Jon looked younger than Spencer had estimated the night before. With the room lit and Spencer's head not spinning, Jon looked less like thirty and more like twenty, twenty-five at most.  He had brown eyes, dark hair, and matching stubble. There were shadows under his eyes, and a bump in his nose where it might have been broken once upon a time. He had morning breath.

 

“Completely healed,” Zack said, carefully folding the bandage and getting up to toss it out.  Spencer stared down at the jagged pale crescent on his shoulder and ran his finger over it gently.

 

He swallowed a lump in his throat and spoke with a weak voice.  “I’m a werewolf then, huh?”

 

Jon clapped him on the back.  “Welcome to the club.”

 

Spencer’s throat was sore and tight again, and he bit his bottom lip to keep it from trembling.  He set his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands, forcing himself to inhale very slowly and trying to keep it from shaking.  The couch dipped down a bit to his left and someone put their arm around Spencer’s shoulders, tugging him into their side. Spencer let them.  He sniffled.

 

“It’ll be alright,” Jon’s voice said, and he felt Jon nosing around in his hair by his ear. It really should have freaked him out, but he was too tired and sore to do anything about it. It was probably a weird werewolf thing, and Spencer figured he’d have to get used to weird werewolf things if this was really happening.  It might have been a dream, still. The status on reality was still up in the air.

 

* * *

 

“Your dad called me last night to ask if you were there.  He was losing his _mind_ , I’m surprised you’re not dead.”

 

Spencer was technically grounded ‘ _for the rest of your life, Spencer James Smith, what the hell is the matter with you!?’_ and banished to his room until he could come up with a good explanation for where he’d been last night. Technically Ryan shouldn’t have even been there, but his parents had a huge soft spot for Ryan and let him in. Even so, Spencer didn’t answer to ninth graders.

 

“Where’d you disappear to?” Ryan asked, sitting down on Spencer’s bed and nudging his knee. Spencer normally would have nudged back, but he didn’t have it in him. The thing was, he really wanted to tell Ryan where he’d been. Ryan was pretty cool for a ninth grader. Spencer had been hanging out with him since five year old Ryan stole eight year old Spencer’s baseball and threw it in the gutter. Spencer had gotten mad and shoved Ryan, making him skin his knee. They became friends on Spencer's front porch while Mrs. Smith put a bandage on Ryan's knee and gave him a popsicle. They talked about superheroes and forgot that they were supposed to be mad at each other.  Ryan and Spencer had grown accustomed to each other, and they told each other practically everything, but… this secret was too big and too weird to tell Ryan.

 

“I went to a friend’s house and I forgot to call Mom and let her know,” Spencer lied.

 

“Hm.”  The same thing Spencer’s mom had said to him. Obviously neither of them believed him, but Spencer had bigger things to worry about besides how much trouble he was in.  Life changing things to worry about. Werewolf things.

 

“Really!” Spencer insisted. “That’s where I was.”

 

“Which friend?” Ryan asked.

 

“Brent.”

 

“Is he the one who likes video games?” Ryan asked. “Or the one who works at the carwash?”

 

“Video games,” Spencer said, then frowned. “Everyone likes video games, loser.”  He nudged Ryan.

 

Ryan nudged back. “Dumb ass.”

 

“Dipstick.”

 

“Oooh some insult there.” Ryan rolled his eyes and pretended to sulk, and Spencer grinned victorious.

 

“Was last night okay?” Spencer asked, looking at Ryan carefully.

 

Ryan shrugged. “As good as it gets.”

 

“Hm.”

 

Ryan sighed. “Yeah.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

**October**

It took lots of apologizing and coercing and begging and Brent coming over to lie and say that _yes, Spencer had totally been at his house that night, he just forgot to call_. On the upside, Spencer was finally ungrounded after two weeks of doing absolutely nothing. On the downside, everything sucked.  He had to sleep with his door locked, because he never knew when he might wake up not in his human body. He had to be careful to watch his temper, because if he got it was just a hair trigger before he growled or his eyes turned gold.

 

To make everything worse, he was apparently going insane.  He was perpetually angry, always just at the edge of his temper, and always _starving_ .  No matter what he ate, he was always hungry, like his first major growth spurt on steroids.  He was starving, and he was angry, and everything was too loud _all the time._  The TV playing in the living room, and the cars going down the streets, and the hum of the refrigerator at night.  Spencer was easily distractible, getting caught up by movement and sounds and smells that nobody else noticed, clotheslined out of nowhere because the McKinnon’s had a barbeque earlier in the evening and they’d had hot dogs and Spencer was _starving_.

 

He could tell his parents were getting frustrated with him. One minute he was fine, normal Spencer, and then next he was staring off into space or storming out of the room. There were a million things he couldn’t get used to, like catching himself eavesdropping on his neighbor’s conversation in an entirely other house. Sometimes at school, for no apparent reason, fur would show up on the tops of his hands, and he hand to press them under his thighs and focus really hard until it went away.

 

His life was a trainwreck.

 

His parents, on a similar note, were curious.

 

“I’m not stupid, Spencer,” his mother told him. “There’s something going on with you. Why won’t you talk to me about it?”

 

The truth was, Spencer wasn’t talking to anyone about it.  He’d given Jon and Zack his phone number before heading home that fateful morning, and he’d promised Zack that if he needed _anything_ he would reach out to them.  Zack had left him to his business, but Jon was pretty persistent, and Spencer didn’t even bother turning his phone on these days.  It was always a text from Jon, or a call from Haley, and Spencer didn’t want to deal with any of that.

 

After several renditions of that conversation with his mother, Spencer was desperate. He pulled the last card that he had and said, “I can’t tell _you_ , it’s guy stuff,” which had worked perfectly when he’d was thirteen.

 

That, however, backfired when his dad knocked on his bedroom door a half hour later and gave him the _‘you can come to me with any questions you have. Adolescence is a hard time for everyone’_ speech. Spencer thought very hard about throwing himself out the window.  Which he got very good at climbing out of, by the way, because Spencer had so much _energy_ and nothing to do with it, so he spent a lot of time sneaking out in the middle of the night and walking around in the woods.  It was relaxing out there, peaceful and quieter than everywhere else, and he no longer worried about the stuff that lurked in the shadows.

 

He _was_ the stuff that lurked in the shadows, and it was hard to be afraid when he’d stared down his new reflection in the mirror and seen an animal in his place.  An animal larger than their golden retrievers, with fangs and claws and a deadly snarl. The dogs didn’t seem too suspicious of him at least, which was good.  He wasn’t sure what he would have done if after everything he’d learned that they could talk.

 

He was at the end of a long and stressful Thursday when his mom called him downstairs after dinner.  He went, reluctantly, but froze with wide eyes when he saw who was at the front door.

 

“Haley’s here,” his mom said, smiling at him. “I was just telling her how nice it is to see her. You haven’t had her over in a while, Spence.”

 

Spencer hadn’t had her over in weeks.  He hadn’t seen her since that night in the park, fifteen days ago exactly, not that he’d been keeping track.  Okay. Yes he had. He swallowed hard and walked over.

 

“We’re just gonna talk for a while,” he said, stepping outside and pulling the door closed to protect against curious mothers.

 

“Spencer, be-” The door cut her off, and Spencer was grateful she didn’t open it up to smack him.

 

“Let’s take a walk,” he said, stuffing his hands far into his pockets and keeping space between him and Haley, trying to send a message.

 

“Okay.” They walked down the sidewalk, Haley fidgeting next to him with her hands in her hoodie pockets.  Spencer tried to stay focused, pick up some body language so he knew where this was going and how to react, but there was an animal rummaging around in the plot of woods a block over, and a radio station playing in a nearby house, and the air smelled like gasoline and made him a little queasy.

 

“We need to talk about what happened,” Haley said, and Spencer snapped himself back.  He nodded silently. He didn’t know how to start this conversation. He'd never been taught how to deal with your girlfriend apparently being a werewolf. Haley sighed.

 

“I didn’t mean to,” she said.

 

Spencer replied, “You bit me,” with as much conviction as possible.  If his voice cracked on the last word, he wasn’t admitting to anything.

 

“I didn’t _mean to_ ,” she repeated, sounding as desperate as Spencer felt. “I mean, with that sound, and…. It scared the both of us, right?  And listen, teenage werewolves aren’t the most stable, I mean, I’m growing into my fangs and sometimes I slip, and we were pretty heavy out there, and I just.  I didn’t mean to.”

 

“You bit me,” he said again. “And then you ran away and left me there, totally fucking confused, and I didn’t even know you were a werewolf, Haley.”  He looked at her and glared, anger rushing back to him. She glanced around panicked, as if someone might be around to hear. “You never told me.”

 

“How was I supposed to tell you, Spencer?” she snapped back.  “It’s not exactly something anyone talks about. What would you have done if I’d just come right out and said it? You would have run away!”

 

“You ran away,” Spencer said, crossing his arms. They’d stopped walking and were arguing on the sidewalk barely three blocks from Spencer’s house. “You bit me and then ran away, and now I don’t have that option anymore.”

 

“Look, I’m sorry….”

 

“Do-” he faltered for a second and cleared his throat- “Do you know how scared I was? You-  you _changed._ You looked… you looked like a monster, and there was blood everywhere.  And this weird guy just showed up out of nowhere and went fucking Harry Potter on me like ‘you’re a werewolf, Spencer’ and you were just _gone_!”

 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

 

Spencer sighed.

 

“Can I see it?” she asked, biting her lip. She looked cute like that, and no matter how mad Spencer was, he still wanted to kiss her until she stopped biting it.

 

“The scar?”

 

She nodded. Spencer sighed again and pulled his hoodie and shirt down to expose his shoulder, where a now white half circle was embedded in his skin just above his collar bone.

 

“I’m sorry,” she said, leaning in. Spencer held his breath as she placed a gentle kiss to it.  After a moment he let the breath out and relaxed, if only a fraction. He let go of some of his anger and hugged her back.

 

“I’m sorry this happened,” she said. “But we’re in this together now, okay? We’ll get through it, I promise.”

 

Spencer may or may not have been clinging to her a little.

 

“I love you,” Haley said, and for the first time in a while, Spencer couldn’t stop himself from smiling.

 

“I love you too,” he whispered. They'd never said that before.  Spencer had been told that those words were kind of a big deal.

 

* * *

 

As Spencer walked out of school, hand linked to Haley's, he was thinking about going to her house to study, doing some math homework, making out on her bed until her parents came home.  Haley didn't know that yet, but she would probably go along with it. If not, Spencer would probably get his entire math assignment done. It was a win-win situation, fundamentally. He had a GPA to maintain.

 

Spencer liked hanging out with Haley. He'd liked it before, of course he did, but now Haley was the only person in the world he didn't have to lie to anymore.

 

Unfortunately, she also didn't have a whole lot of answers.  Haley was born as a werewolf, so she went through what she called the ‘puppy phase’ when she was too young to remember it.  She said that it had all just been natural, that everything was the same as it had always been. The weirdness Spencer was adjusting to- the sights and smells and sounds and the way his body didn’t seem to care where he was when it shifted between human and wolf anatomy and how sometimes, when he shifted into a wolf to practice, he couldn’t quite get his legs to move correctly- that had all just been normal life for her.

 

"It started when I was two," she'd told him, shrugging. "Random transformations when you're asleep or angry, that's all I can really remember.  Everything else has always just been this way.”

 

It wasn't like he could look online for information about this stuff.  He knew there were other werewolves out there, but they didn't go around publishing blogs and forming chat rooms to talk about wolf issues. Or if they did, he didn’t look for them.  The last thing he needed was for his parents to find wolf stuff in the home computer browser history. Haley was his knight in shining armor, because at this point, vague answers about wolf puberty and someone to complain to was all Spencer could ask for in a girlfriend.

 

Someone calling his name brought a halt to their conversation, and Spencer stepped out of the way of a moving car before stopping in the school parking lot.  He glanced around, nose picking up something familiar but unrecognizable.

 

"Who's that guy?" Haley asked, pointing.  Spencer followed her gaze to see someone in an unzipped winter jacket and flip flops, despite the frigid wind that had started picking up earlier in the week.

 

"That..." Spencer said, squinting. "That's Jon."

 

Haley frowned.  “Jon? Who’s Jon?”

 

Spencer would have explained, but then Jon was _right there_.  He jogged over, smiling. "Hey man,” he said,  “You haven’t been answering my texts.”

 

Spencer had not been answering Jon’s texts, that was true.  He’d been going to great lengths to avoid opening the messages, like some kind of one-sided cellular hide and seek.

 

“Yeah, um, sorry.”  He rubbed at the back of his neck and glanced off over Jon’s shoulder.  “I, um… What are you doing here?”

 

Jon shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels.  “Groceries,” he explained, then motioned vaguely to the paper bag on his hip. “I live down that way, so I'm just passing by."  He looked like he’d just gotten out of bed, his hair a tousled mess, his jeans practically hanging off of him, and his flannel shirt half unbuttoned.

 

Spencer didn’t remember where Jon’s house was, just that he’d been there and Jon was nice to him and it had been a really stupid idea.  Spencer could have been murdered to top off the worst day of his life.

 

So maybe Spencer was ghosting on Jon, and maybe it was some kind of coping mechanism.  Maybe he wasn’t adjusting to this werewolf stuff as well as he wanted to admit, and maybe texting Jon about it was admitting defeat.  Accepting that this was actually happening. Embracing the culture, or whatever.

 

"Ahem," Haley cleared her throat.  An elbow dug into his side.

 

"Oh!" Spencer said, remembering himself, and introduced them.  Jon was a guy he met _that night_ \- or so they’d been referring to it- and Haley was a friend from school.  She glared at him, and he amended. Haley was his girlfriend.

 

Jon leaned a little closer and sniffed the air in their direction.  Spencer leaned back. Haley glared at him. Jon’s eyebrows went up. "The girl from the park,” he said.

 

Haley raised her chin slowly and stared him down. "I am."

 

Jon shifted his weight back, tilted his head to the side, face blank.  “Y’know it’s a good thing I was around that night,” he said. “It can be hard for Bittens.  They need someone to take care of them.”

 

Haley all but sneered as she said, "Well it's not exactly like I planned for that to happen.”

 

"I would hope not.”

 

There was something in the way Jon and Haley were looking at each other, heads high, eyes narrowed, jaws clenched. Spencer realized they were challenging each other, or something. It must have been a werewolf thing, but Spencer could practically taste the tense energy running through the air between them.

 

"Guys," he hissed, nudging Haley’s arm. "Knock it off.”

 

Jon snapped out of it and had the decency to look embarrassed while Haley continued to glare.

 

"Anyways,” Jon coughed. “I was meaning to ask, would you guys like to grab something to eat?  My treat.”

 

Spencer and Haley answered at the same time, Spencer saying “Sure,” while Haley turned him down.  They paused, glancing at each other. Jon laughed.

 

"You go ahead," Haley said, her hand on Spencer's shoulder. She smiled, but it looked forced. "Call me tonight?"

 

Spencer didn't have time to answer when Haley pulled him in for a kiss, tongue and everything. She pulled away after a few seconds, leaving Spencer red faced and breathless.

 

"I'll call you," he said, and this time when Haley smiled she looked pleased. Spencer wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and glanced at Jon, who was still chuckling and watching Haley walk away.

 

"Someone's possessive," Jon smiled fondly. "C'mon. You're probably starving."

 

He was, actually, and if Jon was paying, who was he to question free food?  Spencer readjusted his backpack on his shoulders and followed after him, all thoughts of math homework falling to the wayside.

 

 

 

* * *

 

“This is so good,” Spencer gushed, eating half a piece of pizza in a single bite. “How did you find this place?”

 

“First night in town I got lost, followed my nose, and ended up here. Can’t believe I found deep dish up in the mountains.” Jon sipped at the can of coke they had sitting between them with two straws stuck in it. He’d had enough money for two slices of pizza but only one can of coke. Spencer didn’t mind. Honestly though, the restaurant smelled like grease, cheese, and feet. Why would Jon follow a scent like that?

 

“Amazing,” Spencer said, nodding. The pizza was somehow an inch thick and still soggy, and he felt some of the grease run down his chin. Jon reached over with a napkin and wiped it off.  Spencer laughed, taken aback, and batted his hands away.

 

Jon finished his pizza with one giant bite. “So how are you doing?” he asked, “Adjusting to the wolf life?”

 

Spencer looked around nervously to see if anyone was around to overhear them, but Jon was totally relaxed. The restaurant was abandoned and the staff was hiding in the breakroom or something. Spencer looked around again before leaning back in the booth and folding his arms over his stomach.

 

“It’s alright…”

 

“It sucks, doesn’t it?” Jon grinned and raised an eyebrow.

 

Spencer sighed. “Yeah. Yeah it does.”

 

“Wanna talk about it?” Jon asked. “I mean, I’m borne, so I don’t have personal experience, but I’ve known a lot of newly changed puppies.”

 

“You’ve known a lot of other werewolves?” Spencer asked, unable to help himself. He was a bit deprived of information.

 

Jon nodded. “Believe it or not, Chicago has a decently sized wolf scene. My parents had a habit of taking in strays.”

 

“That’s really nice of them.”

 

Jon nodded. “It was great. Zack was a part of the pack, an old friend of my mom’s.  She sent him with me when I decided to move away, but he doesn’t seem to mind it. The mountains are really pretty.”

 

Jon had a whimsical look on his face as he spoke.  Spencer took another bite of his pizza. “Is that a normal dream? For a werewolf? Most kids run away to the city.”

 

Jon shrugged. “Big cities are over-stimulating. So much noise and smells and… This cluster of towns here? It’s practically empty.  It’s _wonderful_.”

 

Scratching at his arm, Spencer nodded a bit. “I can see how it could feel suffocating. I’m kind of… it’s not easy to get used to.  Everything is so _loud_.”

 

“You’ll get used to it, puppy.” Jon leaned across the table and ruffled his hair, and Spencer scoffed, ducking his head. He glanced down at his phone and sighed.

 

“I think I’d better be getting home,” he said. “I’m still kind of walking on thin ice, after um… y’know.”

 

Jon nodded and pulled his wallet out, throwing his last five dollars on the table for the tip. He got up and stretched, arms above his head, pulling at his shirt and exposing his stomach a bit.

 

“What’s that face for?” Jon teased, pinching Spencer’s cheek. Spencer batted Jon’s hand away and laughed, ducking out of reach.

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Mhm.” Jon winked, and Spencer rolled his eyes. Jon was simultaneously the lamest and most amazing person Spencer had ever met.

 

Spencer shoved Jon’s shoulder. “It’s nothing.”

 

* * *

 

Jon really didn’t have to walk Spencer all the way to his house, and maybe it really wasn’t smart to let someone who was practically a stranger know where he lived, but Spencer wasn’t the poster boy for good choices these days.  He decided not to worry about it. When they arrived, Ryan was sitting on his doorstep eating a sandwich off of a plate that definitely came from Spencer’s kitchen. He glared suspiciously at Jon in a way he did with anyone who got too close to him, Spencer knew from experience.

 

“I’ll see you,” Jon said, raising his hand and walking away. Spencer jogged up to the front door and nudged Ryan’s foot with his own.

 

“Who was that?” Ryan asked around a mouth full of sandwich.

 

Spencer poked Ryan in the forehead and said “Chew, dummy.” Ryan kicked him in the shin. “A friend from school,” he answered. He lied. Spencer was getting kind of sick of lying to people all the time.

 

“That’s not carwash guy or video game guy,” Ryan said, “And it’s definitely not Haley.”

 

Spencer scowled. “I have more than three friends, asshole.”

 

Ryan nodded and looked up at him. “You have me.”

 

Spencer looked carefully at Ryan, knowing there were layers to that statement when it came from Ryan. It was more like a question, but he’d would never admit that.

 

“That’s right, I got you.” Spencer ruffled Ryan hair, and Ryan frowned and swatted at his hand. Spencer smiled.

 

"I've never seen him around the school though," Ryan pressed. Spencer groaned.

 

"He wouldn't hang around your hallways, he's a senior."

 

“ _You_ hang out in my hallways.”

 

"Drop it, Ross," Spencer snapped, and Ryan sighed like a dying man.

 

“Whatever.”  He flipped his hair back out of his eyes. "I wrote another poem.” Ryan grinned up at him.

 

Spencer groaned. “No.”

 

“It’s about unrequited love and the way it tortures a soul,” Ryan said seriously, as if he knew anything about that at fourteen. Spencer sighed and flopped down on the porch steps, laying back and throwing his arm over his eyes.

 

“Lay it on me, Shakespeare.” Spencer could practically hear Ryan grinning as he flipped open his notebook. The smile was worth it.

 

* * *

 

The full moon didn’t fall on Halloween, which Spencer thought was a bit bogus.  It happened a few days before, but Spencer set up an elaborate scheme with an imaginary Halloween party to excuse himself from the house for the night of the full moon.  He pulled Brent into it again, getting him to lie about crashing at his place and promising not to drink or do drug or make any stupid decisions.

 

His parents, strangely enough, made him promise not to go outside after sunset.  “Is this an inside party?” his father asked him, and knowing the correct answer to that question without understanding its intention, Spencer agreed.

 

“Yeah, in somebody’s basement, and it’s only a few blocks away from Brent’s house.”

 

“You go straight there after the party,” he said, sounding serious in a way that Spencer’s father never sounded serious about anything.  “Do you know what night it is? I don’t want you outside long, understand me?”

 

Fully intending to disobey his father, Spencer agreed and gained their permission.  Maybe it was a bad idea to pull Brent into his lies as much as he was, but ninety percent of the time Brent was too high to be suspicious, and the other ten percent he was fighting with his parents about how he wasn’t getting high and they were just imagining things.

 

So maybe Brent was just stupid enough to be a perfect alibi, and kind of shitty enough that Spencer didn’t feel guilty for lying to him so much.

 

It seemed luck was on his side when his father cornered him the night before the “party” and slipped something into his hand with firm instructions to “be responsible and make good choices tonight.”  The condom would suggest that while his parents might think he was lying, they were imagining a totally different brand of trouble, and well… Spencer could work with that.

 

He met at Jon and Zack’s house early in the evening, wanting to be prepared for everything that was going to go down.  Jon had invited him earlier, and Spencer wasn’t actually sure how much there was to learn. He’d tried looking something up on his phone, but the first three pages of results had been _human_ stuff, which was wholly unhelpful for Spencer.

 

As it turned out, there wasn’t much to prepare for.  Spencer got to their house and found Jon making dinner while Zack laid into a punching bag hung from a tree in the backyard.  Jon had invited him over and told him to sit at the kitchen table, and when he caught Spencer watching he decided to explain.

 

“We all get a little keyed up the day or two before the moon rises,” Jon said, motioning to Zack with a wooden spoon which trembled with shaking hands.  Spencer stared there for a moment, then glanced up at Jon’s face. The shadows under his eyes were deep and telling. “Couldn’t settle down last night,” he explained.  “And I went a little too hard on the coffee today. But damn, it’s gonna be nice tonight. Clear skies, bright moon. Just wait, you’ll see. How are you fairing?”

 

Spencer had felt particularly odd for a little while, he realized, though he hadn’t paid it much mind considering how alien all of his behaviors were these days.  He’d woken up in a fit that morning, sweaty and dizzy from some strange dream, and he’d opted for a shower instead of a few more hours of sleep. He’d locked himself in the shower, and instead of getting in right away, had locked the door behind him, shifted over, and just paced the small space for a while on all fours.

 

Which, yeah, Spencer could admit that was pretty odd.  He made a mental note to remember this all for the next full moon.

 

Dinner consisted of enough sloppy joe meat to feed a third world country, and they could have easily finished the pot between the three of them had Zack not warned him against eating too much before shifting.

 

“Why?” Spencer had asked, “What happens?”

 

“You don’t wanna know, kid.”

 

Maybe so.  It was easy company, being around Jon and Zack.  They asked him about school, and he mentioned the festivities that usually accompanied the holiday.  

 

“They let us wear costumes on Friday, and someone got suspended for dressing like a werewolf.  Not sure if they’re in trouble for terrorism or cultural appropriation,” he’d said through a mouthful of sandwich, and Jon had laughed so hard that water sprayed out of his nose and Zack had to pound him on the back until he started coughing.

 

After dinner and dishes and Jon explaining in _detail_ what full moon nights were like in Chicago, Zack finally glanced at his watch and then out the window.  The sky was orange, quickly changing pink and eventually dark blue. He nodded and said, “Time to go, boys.”

 

Spencer picked his nervousness up right where he’d left it.  

 

He was a little surprised they didn’t walk to the woods right by their backyard, but it wasn’t a long walk to their actual destination anyways.  Spencer found himself silent the whole time, anxiety eating away at his brain, while the others seemed to be quiet in anticipation. They made their way to a large expanse of trees between Spencer’s house and their’s, and it was a short walk then on to an empty, hidden away clearing.  

 

The gravel parking lot was empty, and the sky was a light violet through the trees, just on the edge of dusk.  Spencer looked into the dark spaces between the trees, eyes adjusting with the falling sunlight as he adapted to seeing in the dark, and while his body and the forest shifted around him Spencer couldn’t help but think this was the start of something significant.

 

* * *

 

 

 

**November**

It may not have been the gentlemanly thing to do, but Spencer was the one who brought up sex for the first time in their relationship.  They’d been going out for a while now, had shared more than Spencer would have guessed from the beginning. He may have actually loved her, or he was at least close to it.

 

That, and his sex drive was through the roof ridiculous, and he could only watch so many videos before starting to wonder about the real thing.

 

So he brought it up, as politely as he could, as they were sitting across from each other in the school cafeteria.  It wasn’t an optimal location, but if Spencer put it off any longer he’d lose his nerve. So he asked, right there in a room with four hundred other teenagers.  Haley arched an eyebrow and held eye contact as she sucked her milk carton dry and crumpled it in a fist.

 

“You want to have sex with me?” she asked.  

 

Spencer swallowed his own tongue. “Um, no, I mean, not if-”

 

“You _don’t_ want to have sex with me?” she corrected, taking Spencer’s unopened milk carton off his tray and peeling the tabs back.  Spencer face palmed mentally and somehow kept himself from doing so physically.

 

“That’s not what I said, I _do,_ I just-”

 

“Cool,” Haley interrupted again, taking a sip and then throwing him a smirk.  She had a milk mustache. Spencer opened his mouth, about to say something else and attempt to explain himself, or potentially plan something.  As he went to do so, though, the bell rang above them and shattered the moment. Time for fifth period. Haley glanced up at the bell and stood.

 

Spencer sighed at himself and slung his bag over his shoulder, resigning himself to four class periods of kicking himself over the conversation and wondering if cool meant ‘yes’ or ‘I hate you’ or whatever.  He picked up his tray, distracted by his own thoughts, and a hand caught his arm.

 

“Something to think about,” Haley said, leaning in close and propping her chin on his shoulder.  Her breath tickled his neck as she whispered, “Werewolves mate for life,” and with a peck on the cheek she was gone, disappearing into the sea of students before them, and Spencer was stuck there.  Half turned on and incredibly dumbfounded.

 

“Wait,” he said quietly, to absolutely no one.  “What?”

 

 

 

* * *

 

Brendon Urie should have never agreed to go Thanksgiving shopping.  Thanksgiving itself was a long and painstaking affair, but nothing, and he truly meant _nothing_ , compared to the shopping trip that came first.  Two hours and a dozen recipes in, and Brendon was about ready to lay on the floor of the supermarket and take a nap while she finished without him.  Leave him there to die.

 

They’d just made it to the checkout lines and the sweet, sweet offer of freedom when they were interrupted by a friend from his mother’s workplace.  She said, “Brendon, you remember Mrs. Smith, don’t you?” and Brendon used incredible amounts of self-control to introduce himself politely instead of tugging on his mom’s sleeve like a little kid and demanding that they go home.  

 

He was about ten years too old for such things, but knowing that and liking it were different situations.  Brendon sighed to himself and tried not to look terribly impatient as he idled near their conversation.

 

They talked about the usual things. About kids and husbands and Stacy from work.  Mrs. Smith mentioned how tall Brendon was getting, and he said thank you even though she was lying.  She mentioned her own son, who she said was quite a bit taller than Brendon. “Pocket sized,” she said, patting his shoulder.  Brendon couldn’t make himself stick too close after that.

 

He wandered off a short ways and resorted to picking up a magazine he wasn’t allowed to be reading.  It had an article about the Hottest Men in Hollywood, and Brendon had to disagree. Tom Felton was so much hotter than Usher, what was this journalist even thinking?

 

“-and I just don’t know what to do with him,” Mrs. Smith sighed while the world’s most annoying rendition of Twelve Days of Christmas chimed from the grocery store speakers.  Attention peaked, he wandered a little closer. Eavesdropping was a sin, but Brendon deserved a break for all his good behavior.

 

“He’s been so moody lately, shutting us out and hiding out in his bedroom all of the time. He’ll hardly talk to us. He ditched school the other day. Maybe it’s just a rebellious phase or something, but my husband and I are at a total loss…”

 

If Brendon tried half the stuff Mrs. Smith’s son was doing, his parents would have flipped their lids.  Sent him off to a camp, probably, or put him on total lockdown. None of his older siblings had been very rebellious, but it was pretty hard to win against their father in a battle of wills.  Wasn’t really worth it. Maybe Mrs. Smith just wasn’t trying hard enough.

 

Brendon clicked his tongue at the situation and decided to mind his own business.  The magazine was flawed. George Clooney wasn’t even hot, and Justin Bieber could barely be counted as a man.

 

“He needs guidance,” was Mrs. Urie’s advice, offered a resource. She’d led a bible study on it, on dealing with teenagers and guiding them in the Way.  Brendon wasn’t so sure, but he wasn’t in any position to question doctrine.

 

After Mrs. Smith said goodbye and went to check out, Brendon's mom made them turn around and go back down the aisles again. Brendon protested, reminding his mom exactly how long they’d been there.

 

She just shot him a look and said, “You volunteered to come with me, now hush.”

 

'Volunteered' wasn’t exactly the right word.  His choices were either accompany his mother to the store or help his father in the backyard.  Ever since Matthew had gone off to do his mission, Brendon was getting to spend a lot of one-on-one time with his dad, doing father-son stuff that he’d somehow mostly managed to avoid until now.  He’d never spent a lot of time with his father, who was a serious man who did serious work, and it turned out Brendon wasn’t actually sure how to hold a conversation with him. As a kid it’d been easy to stay out of the way, but this new bonding time just seemed like a new world of opportunities for Brendon to get in trouble.

 

He sighed out a “yes ma’am,” and followed her through the store, dragging his feet and looking forlornly at the ceiling for help.

 

She spent another twenty minutes picking up pie ingredients and checking out before they were finally able to exit the store, a dozen paper bags filled with enough groceries for a Thanksgiving feast and one pie.  That pie really started all the trouble in the first place.

* * *

 

 

Spencer checked his phone, sighed forlornly, and sat on the cinderblock steps that lead from the backdoor of his house.  He found a woolly bear caterpillar on the doorframe next to him and coaxed it onto his finger, then watched it crawl from his knuckle to his wrist before picking his phone up again.  He squinted at the screen and sent off a ninth message, just one word: **jon.**

 

He held the phone up for the caterpillar to see. The greatest thing in the whole wide world had happened to him, and he had no one to tell except Jon Walker, who wouldn’t text him back, and a woolly caterpillar, who might not even have eyes.

 

His phone chirped, and Spencer sat back up.  Jon’s message read: **send me one more and die.** But Spencer knew the threat was harmless and started typing out another text.  Half-way through he was interrupted with an incoming call, and he shrugged and answered.  Just as well.

 

“Hey puppy,” Jon said.  Spencer rolled his eyes.

 

“Hey. I got news.”  He stretched his legs out and watched the caterpillar turn around and make its way back towards his fingers.  When it reached his knuckle, he held it down towards a frostbitten shrub and watched it take on the frozen branches like a jungle gym.  

 

“What’s up?”

 

Spencer held his breath for a second. This was monumental. “We did it.”

 

There were several long seconds of silence.  Spencer’s lungs started to burn from holding his breath.  He let it all out in one big exhale, and a breeze rushed by and shook the caterpillar loose from its branch.  Spencer shivered and considered going inside for a jacket.

 

“I’m gonna need a few more words than that, bud. Like, some nouns. Maybe an action verb. Help me out.” Jon’s voice sounded lazy and tired. Spencer wondered what he was up to and smiled.

 

“Haley and I,” he specified. “We did it. We’re mates now.” They’d christened themselves the night prior, in an empty house on Spencer’s twin bed, the only witness being the Harry Potter poster hanging on the closet door.  Someone else had to know, or else he’d go crazy, and who else would understand the depth of the situation- the _mates_ situation- besides Jon?

 

He wasn’t anticipating a second drawn out silence on the other end.  He held his phone up for a moment, checked the connection.

 

“Uhm. Jon?”

 

“So you just had sex, or you, like, actually talked about it and did the-”

 

“Yeah,” Spencer agreed.  “The whole sha-bang. Which was, not gonna lie, kind of weird?  But I guess it’s just another werewolf thing that I-”

 

“You’re joking, right?” Jon interrupted, and yeah, okay. Not the reaction he was going for.

 

“No, I’m serious,” Spencer insisted.  “Haley’s my mate now. We did it last night.”

 

There was a rustling noise, and Jon’s voice was kind of far away and muffled as he said, “I can’t believe this….”

 

“What?” Spencer snapped.  Jon groaned.

 

“Spencer, you know that’s, like, a huge deal, right?”

 

“I’m not an idiot,” Spencer said, and Jon laughed like he didn’t believe him.  “What? I thought you’d be happy for me!”

 

Jon snapped back, “You’re _seventeen._ ”

 

Spencer growled. “I know how old I am.”

 

“You know that werewolves mate for life, right? This is a pretty serious decision.”

 

“I knew that before we decided to do it.”

 

“How could you even… you’re just a kid!”

 

It was Spencer’s turn to laugh, but when he did, it sounded mean.  Jon was only like two years older than him. What did he know anyways?  “Oh yeah, coming from you and your infinite wisdom.”

 

“This is a big deal, Spencer,” Jon said seriously.

 

“I know that!” Spencer practically yelled. “I know it’s a big deal, but we’re ready for it. We’re in love.”

 

Jon laughed again. “Oh my God. You’re in love, huh? You’ve been together, what? Six months? You’re just kids”

 

“We know what we’re doing,” he growled.

 

“You’re puppies! I can’t believe you did this!” Now Jon sounded mad. Spencer growled again.  He didn’t need a lecture.

 

“You’re full of shit,” he hissed out, and then he heard a tired sigh.

 

“Spencer… I… I can’t even talk to you right now. I’ll see you around.” There was a click and then a beep telling him Jon had hung up. Spencer growled again and threw his phone across the back yard, leading up to an anticlimactic thump on the frozen ground a ways away.  It wasn’t cathartic at all. He felt too big for his skin.

 

“I can’t believe him!” he grumbled, getting to his feet and pacing. “Who does he think he is!? He doesn’t get to decide what I do.”

 

He kicked a clump of dirt and sent it flying. He felt like he wanted to punch a tree or something, or himself. He wasn’t willing to admit how much it stung that Jon didn’t approve of what he’d done. It was a big deal to Spencer. A huge deal. He had thought he made the right decision… No, he _knew_ he made the right decision, and who was Jon to tell him he hadn’t? He and Haley were in love, they were almost adults, and they had thought it through. Jon would just have to get used to it.

 

Just then he caught a glimpse of something moving in his peripheral vision and spun around, just barely holding in a growl that threatened to rise up from his throat. There was a kid with a bowl cut, a pie, and the world’s longest scarf, standing on the other side of Spencer’s backyard fence, with huge eyes and a hand hovering over the lock.

 

“Oh… hi!” the kid waved a bit wildly with one hand, then looked slightly embarrassed and let it fall back. He looked to be Ryan’s age, maybe a bit older. Spencer couldn’t remember seeing him around school.  He frowned. The boy squirmed a bit when Spencer didn’t answer him and blew some air into his cheeks to puff them up, then released it. His skin was pink from the cold. He looked at the ground. He looked up again. “Maybe this isn’t a good time?”

 

It really wasn’t, and Spencer would have loved to shove that stupid pie in the kid's stupid face and kick him out, but he also knew that he was feeling unreasonably mean and couldn’t actually do that to someone. Well, he might be able to do that, but he would probably die from the guilt afterwards.

 

“My mom sent me over with this!” The kid chirped when Spencer still hadn’t said anything.  He held up the pie. “It’s cherry! Do you like cherry? She makes really good pies, so even if you don’t like cherry, you might like this one. Chocolate is my favorite kind of pie though, but Kara says that chocolate pie isn’t really pie because it doesn’t have fruit in it, but Kara can’t even bake, so what does she know anyways. Kara's my sister, by the way. I have two sisters, but Kara's the nicer one, even though she's kind of mean, but I think that's a girl thing.” Spencer blinked a few times, not quite following the conversation.  He crossed his arms.

 

“I think we’ve met before, at my mom’s work.  You look different though. It’s been a few years.” The kid unhooked the gate and let himself in without permission. Spencer just watched him carefully.

 

“I’m Brendon Urie!” he stuck a gloved hand out, and Spencer reflexively shook it. He was raised with manners.  

 

He finally found his voice to say, “I’m sorry, I don’t remember…” which felt awkward.  He pulled his hand back.

 

Brendon grinned at him and shrugged, bony shoulders going up and down under his slightly too big jacket.  He then scrunched his nose up and pushed his glasses back up, swept his hair out of his eyes. He blinked.

 

“Is your mom home?”

 

Spencer shook his head.

 

Brendon shifted the pie in his hands and bounced slightly on the balls of his feet. Spencer grinned despite his bad mood and Jon Walker.  He was getting used to picking up people’s smell the way humans picked up tone of voice and body language, and this kid smelled like pie and nerves and happiness.  It was slightly infectious.

 

“You wanna come hang out for a while?” Spencer asked, motioning to the backdoor. Brendon glanced at the back door, studied it.  He then glanced at Spencer and studied him too, expression dubious. Spencer pushed aside his awkwardness and said, “Come on, just for a while.  My mom should be back soon.”

 

Brendon seemed to make his mind up, and his mood shifted immediately.  He said, “Sure,” with a giant, cheesy grin that could barely be seen over the top of his scarf.  Spencer shook his head and laughed a bit under his breath. This kid was weird, and part of Spencer’s brain thought up the word ‘puppy,’ and then pushed it away. Spencer wasn’t thinking about Jon Walker and his stupid pet names, and this kid, Brendon, was a human anyways.

 

“Just let me grab my phone.”

 

Brendon nodded and Spencer ran across the backyard to get it. When Spencer turned back around, Brendon had set the pie plate on the steps and was upside down in a handstand. Spencer laughed.

 

* * *

 

 

 

**December**

Spencer hadn’t had any intention of becoming friends with Brendon Urie.  His sisters and Ryan were enough, thank you. He had far too many middle schoolers making up his social circle, and he should be getting paid for babysitting at this point.  

 

But his dad had him trapped in the car after dropping Brendon back off at home that first time, and he’d told him how _nice_ it was of him to hang out with Brendon, how the boy needed more friends his age, how Spencer’s mom was worried about him, and Spencer’s dad was _proud_ of him for being a _role model_.

 

And well, Spencer had to rethink his plans after that because the last thing Spencer wanted was to disappoint his parents or hurt some poor kid’s feelings.  Brendon was pretty harmless for an eighth grader. He was funny, easy to talk to, and ridiculously easy to impress. Spencer showed him how to play Guitar Hero on the Wii and Brendon acted like he hung the stars.

 

So Spencer took the kid’s calls when they came in, and he opened his door and let Brendon take up space in his living room.  Brendon really must have not had many friends, otherwise he wouldn’t have spent nearly every day of winter vacation at Spencer’s house.  But Spencer got pretty used to him, found he didn’t mind having him around. The girls didn’t either, though Spencer had to save Brendon on several occasions from makeovers and nailpolish and learning the High School Musical Three dances.

 

A lazy Friday afternoon found Brendon and Spencer in his bedroom, Brendon picking through Spencer’s old leggo’s while Spencer lounged on the floor and texted Haley.  She had been invited over as well but was busy, and Ryan knew the Smith’s door was always open to him, but it had been a while since he’d actually taken advantage of that.  Maybe that was a good sign. Maybe he should be worried.

 

“Oh my God, shut up!” Spencer groaned, at the end of his patience as Brendon crooned along to the youtube video playing on Spencer’s computer.

 

“ _This is the ultimate showdown!_ ” Brendon threw his arms out and flopped back on the floor.  Spencer kicked at him.

 

“I hate you,” he said.  “I shouldn’t have shown you this.”

 

“Spencer Smith!” Brendon let out an outraged gasp, sounding absolutely vindicated. Spencer choked back laughter and put on a face of mock sincerity.  Brendon declared, “That’s it! We cannot be friends anymore. I request my number be removed from your cell phone and my memories from your heart.”

 

“Sit the heck down.” Spencer used his arm to knock Brendon’s legs out from under him, and Brendon squeaked and fell on his ass.  He’d learned not to cuss around Brendon too much, because it always made him get all flustered and fidgety. He had very delicate sensibilities, it seemed.

 

“I am being domestically abused!” Brendon giggled. Spencer took his pillow and shoved it into Brendon’s face.  Brendon smacked him with it.

 

He heard his phone buzz somewhere nearby and ignored it. It wasn’t Jon, who hadn’t texted or called Spencer since their argument five days ago. Spencer pretended that he wasn’t dying slowly inside. It had to be Haley, and Spencer wondered if he should feel bad for ignoring his girlfriend to hang out with a strange mormon kid who smelled like Cheetos.

 

“What do you think the meaning of life is?” Brendon asked randomly, now sprawled out on his back with the pillow under his head, staring solemnly at the ceiling. Spencer wondered how it was possible for Brendon to switch so quickly between emotions. At one moment, jumping around singing awful music, and seconds later tranquil and thoughtful. It was a little disorienting.

 

Spencer made a face at him. “42,” he said instinctively, recalling it from some tv show or movie or something.

 

Brendon punched Spencer in the leg. “Jerk. No, I’m serious.” He looked back at the ceiling, and his eye caught the clock on the way there.

 

“Oh my gosh is that the time!?” he yelped, leaping to his feet. “I have to go!  I am _so_ dead!”

 

“It’s only six o’clock….”

 

“I have to go,” Brendon demanded. “He is going to kill me. I’ll see you.”  He haphazardly yanked on his jacket and all but stumbled down the stairs and out the front door. Spencer followed him downstairs and watched from the front window as Brendon sprinted down the street and out of sight.  He listened to his foot steps until he couldn’t hear them anymore. The sharp scent of adrenaline hung back without him. Spencer rubbed his nose.

 

“Weird fucking kid….” he said quietly to himself, then collapsed back on the floor and wondered what he was supposed to do now.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Christmas came and went and Spencer still wasn’t talking to Jon.  He’d invited Haley over for dinner the night of Christmas Eve, but she took a rain check with plans of her own and an excuse that she ‘wasn’t quite ready to bring it up with her parents yet.’

 

Spencer thought that was a little weird, since they were mates and had been a part of each other’s lives for nearly six months now, but he didn’t push the issue.  He gave her the hoodie she always stole from him and talked about keeping, and she bought him a book he’d been thinking about for a while.

 

It was a good Christmas, all things considered, but Spencer had to admit he was getting kinda lonely.  It was dumb for Jon and Zack to become such integral parts of his life in such short time and under such bad circumstances, yet here he was.  Brendon had claimed a space in his life pretty quickly too, though. Maybe that was just how it worked- sometimes people popped up in your life and decided to stay.

 

Spencer was having a hard time with the Jon thing though.  As the end of the month approached and the moon grew larger in the sky, Spencer was more and more tempted to bite the bullet and apologize first.  Afterall, he’d been the one to piss Jon off in the first place. He still didn’t think he was wrong- he still thought that him and Haley being mates was a good decision, but maybe he could suck it up long enough to get Jon to talk to him again.

 

Two days after Christmas, he finally picked up his phone and just about pressed call when his ringtone burst out of it. His heart jumped in his chest but… it was just Brendon.  He thought about sending it to voicemail, just for a second, before sighing and answering.

 

“What’s up, B?” Spencer said, flopping back on the couch. He blocked out the sound of his sister’s video game with a finger in his ear.

 

Brendon’s voice sounded weird when he responded, quiet and small.  He said, “Hey… um… I was just… can I come over?”

 

Spencer pushed himself off the couch and wandered into the kitchen, ignoring his sisters’ protests as he walked in front of the TV.  Super Mario Bros. didn’t take top priority when Brendon sounded like he was about to burst into tears.

 

“Of course,” Spencer said. “Yeah, totally. Crystal and Jackie are totally hogging the living room, but we can hang out in my room or-”

 

Brendon sniffled. “Thanks.”

 

“Are you okay?” Spencer asked, leaning back against the counter and drumming his fingers.

 

Brendon cleared his throat, “Yeah…. Yeah, I’m great, I’ll see you soon.” Then he hung up. Spencer frowned at his phone. That was weird.

 

When Spencer opened the front door for Brendon, it was obvious there was something wrong with him. He was twitchy, but not in the way he was usually twitchy. He was picking at his gloves and chewing on his lip, rather than bouncing slightly or drumming his hands on his thigh.

 

“Hey….” Spencer said carefully, holding the door open for Brendon to step in. “Come on in.”

 

Spencer snagged two cokes out of the fridge, and Brendon followed him upstairs to his room. He dropped his coat on the floor and himself onto the bed, and Spencer sat in his desk chair and watched Brendon roll an unopened can of coke between his palms.  Brendon wasn’t technically allowed to have caffeine, but he’d never turned it down before. Usually he’d have chugged half of it by now and be bouncing off the walls. But Brendon wasn’t talking a mile a minute or jumping out of his skin. He sat there perfectly still, silent, and solemn, eyes glued to his lap.  He sighed, and Spencer decided that was just about enough.

 

“Okay, what the hell?” Spencer asked. Brendon flinched, and his eyes darted up to look at him.

 

“What?”

 

“What the hell, as in, what the hell is wrong with you? You’re all… mopey. What happened?” Spencer asked, because seriously, he’d known the kid for almost a month and had never seen him act like this. Maybe a month wasn’t long enough to make serious judgments about a person’s personality, but it felt long enough. Spencer was nearly certain that there was something wrong.

 

Brendon chewed at his bottom lip some more. “I just. I had to get out of the house…. Everyone was over, just.. hanging out. Like, most of the family. One of those days. And they got to talking about… like, it was on the news or something.” Brendon set his can on the ground untouched, which was seriously concerning.

 

“Anyways,” Brendon let out a shaky breath. “They all started talking about it and about how disgusting it was… and how… God... They said they feel bad for them because they don’t know any better. They said the devil’s got a hold of them and that they just need to try harder.” Brendon’s bottom lip trembled, and he pressed his hands to his eyes for a moment. Spencer really wished he knew what the hell Brendon was talking about so that he could help.

 

“M-my dad said… he said that he’d never have… have a…. for a son,” Brendon swallowed hard. “And that those people needed the devil beaten out of them…” Brendon let out a little hiccup and pressed his hands tighter to his eyes. “He has no idea that he’s….”

 

“Bren…” Spencer said slowly, getting up and sitting next to Brendon on the bed. “Brendon, hey, it’s alright….”

 

“N-no it’s not!” Brendon scooted over, flinching like he’d been burned and putting space between them.  He dropped his elbows to his knees and hid his whole face in his hands. “It’s not alright. My family hates me, they just doesn’t know it yet… and… I’m trying so hard… But I can’t, Spencer. I can’t and I don’t know what to do.”

 

Brendon burst into tears, whimpering quietly into his hands and breathing raggedly through his teeth.  Spencer froze for a second, then tentatively shifted a bit closer and wrapped his arm around Brendon’s shoulders.  Brendon sat stock still for a second, holding his breath until it all escaped him in a sob and he clung to Spencer with unprecedented strength. Spencer stared down at him at a loss and patted him on the head.  Brendon buried his face in Spencer’s shoulder, and Spencer suddenly had a lap-full of Brendon that he didn’t know what to do with. He just waited it out.

 

Eventually, Brendon’s breathing got less shaky, and he wasn’t clutching so tightly to Spencer’s t-shirt anymore. Spencer smoothed Brendon’s hair back gently the way Spencer’s mom used to when Spencer was little.

 

He wasn’t sure speaking was a good idea, but he didn’t have any better ideas.  He said, “I want to help, but you didn’t actually tell me what was the matter.”

 

The moment shattered with that.  Brendon pulled away, mopping at his face with his wrists and sniffling hard.  He got off the bed, stepped away and leaned back on the desk. He scrubbed at his nose and kept his eyes downcast. “I can’t tell you….”

 

“Why not?” Brendon looked up and glared.

 

“You won’t like me anymore if I tell you,” Brendon said, voice a trembling whisper, and Spencer wanted to go and deck anyone and everyone who made Brendon sound like that.  Maybe he should be worried about how protective he was becoming. Maybe it was a werewolf thing, or just a Smith thing. He leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees, face determined.

 

“Try me.”

 

Brendon glanced up at Spencer with these giant, sad eyes. He met Spencer’s eye before looking away, twisting the edge of his shirt in anxious fingers as he tried to make up his mind.  “You can’t tell anyone,” he said. “You have to swear to keep it a secret, I mean it.”

 

“I promise,” Spencer said seriously. “I promise that I won’t tell anyone.”

 

Brendon fidgeted, eyes fixed on the floor. He closed them before speaking. “The news was talking about gay marriage.”  He opened his eyes and glancing sideways at Spencer. Spencer could hear Brendon’s heart pounding, could smell the salt in the air, could feel in his own nerves how keyed up Brendon was, how close he was to running.

Spencer considered that for a moment. “Are you gay?” he asked awkwardly, feeling like the world’s biggest jackass.  Just like that, Brendon was off.

 

“I don’t want to be. I’m trying not to be. I’m trying really, really hard, but it’s not working. I just- I don’t know what to do, but I don’t want them to hate me.”  He was pacing now, one hand still working at unraveling his shirt while the other shook in the air. “They don’t know yet, and maybe they’d be different if they knew, but they say that stuff, and it makes me feel _sick_ , and they’re right, aren't’ they?  It’s wrong. If so many people think so, it has to be, so I just have to be good enough to change or keep it a secret, cause they can’t know.  They can’t know that I’m just- just a disgusting faggot and I-”

 

“Hey,” Spencer barked, standing.  “Don’t say that about yourself.”

 

Brendon’s fear quickly turned to anger as he snapped back, “Why not?” stepping closer and narrowing his eyes at Spencer, hands balled into fists at his sides.  Spencer wondered for a second if he was about to get punched, wondered how hard Brendon would be able to hit him for such a little guy. He could take him, if he had to.  But Brendon was still shaking, tears brimming in his eyes no matter how angry he seemed right now.

 

Well, shit.  Spencer stepped closer and grabbed onto him before Brendon could try and hit him, wrapping him up tight in a hug and keeping him there.  

 

Spencer was wildly unprepared for this conversation.  So much for being a good role model, he thought. He thought about the stuff he’d heard his parents say when the topic came up no TV or at Thanksgiving.  His cousin was gay. He tried to think back to that. He thought about his own family, how he wasn’t sure his parents would still love him if they knew he was a werewolf.

 

“Because it’s not true.  There’s nothing wrong with you, and you can’t let anyone call you that.  Don’t believe all that bullshit, okay?”

 

Brendon tried shoving Spencer away for a final time, failed, and crumpled into his arms.  “I just want to be good enough for them,” he said, crying again. Spencer could feel it against his shoulder.  He sighed.

 

“God damnit, B,” he sighed, squeezing him tighter and trying not to worry about how weird and intimate this was.  Brendon needed someone to show that they cared about him, and Spencer would just have to suck it up and fill those shoes for now.  “You’re good enough,” he said. “Your parents love you. You’re good enough, okay?”

 

Brendon didn’t answer, and he only let the moment draw out for about thirty seconds before he started to squirm.  He pulled away, and Spencer let him go.

 

He coughed, scrubbed at his eyes, tapped his foot on the ground. “Do… do you wanna play minecraft? I convinced my parents to let me play on the computer at home. I can totally show you my pet pig, now. It’s kind of amazing.”

 

Brendon forced a smile, and Spencer didn’t have it in him to push the issue when Brendon was trying to damn hard to look happy.  

 

“You’re on.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Spencer!”

 

He heard his mother’s voice coming from downstairs, but he was currently in the battle of his life, running away from five spiders which had accumulated right after Brendon had left to go home.  

 

Spencer hadn’t let him leave until he gave him a bone crushing hug and told Brendon how great he was, that there wasn’t anything wrong with him, because obviously Brendon needed someone to tell him that. Spencer remembered being fourteen and how awful it had been. He made up his mind to give Ryan a hug too next time he saw him.

 

 But Spencer was too busy to be bothered with going downstairs at the moment, not when he was down to two hearts. He’d finally, _finally_ , finished his house, and he didn’t feel like starting over because a fucking spider killed him.

 

“Spencer James Smith!” Spencer jumped out of his skin, hand hitting the keyboard. His error was enough for the spiders to descend, and that was it. No more hearts and a black screen. Spencer groaned.

 

“I’m coming!”

 

When Spencer finally clomped down the stairs, his mom was on the phone in the kitchen. She motioned to the front door, now suddenly not wanting to talk and be impolite while on the phone, even though she’d been holding it to her chest and shouting just moments before. Spencer rolled his eyes and went to open the door, hearing his mom say, “I’m just very concerned….”

 

His mom was always concerned. It was kind of her thing.  Spencer tugged open the front door and… and there was Jon. His mom really should have been concerned for her son, since he was going off with strange men she’d never met, playing therapist for depressed kids, and running about in the woods naked.

 

Spencer heard her say, “...seemed to be incredibly upset…” and yeah, that basically sums it up.

 

Spencer grabbed his closet out of the closet and threw it on as he walked out the door.  He yelled, “I’m going for a walk!” and slammed it behind him before Jon could even say hello, then he grabbed Jon by the arm and dragged him off the front porch.  Having Jon at his house made him incredibly nervous, as if Spencer’s parents would take one look at him and _know_ , so Spencer headed off down the sidewalk to clear some distance.

 

Jon followed him without protesting.

 

“Nice time for you to show up.” Spencer had let go of him and crossed his arms. “Have a nice vacation from me, or do you need another month?”

 

“It goes both ways,” Jon snapped, then immediately dropped the stern facade and sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I’m sorry, okay? I needed some time to think, and then I went home to visit my parents for a while. I just got distracted.”

 

Spencer was mad, yes, but Jon had apologized and that’s really all he’d been asking for in the first place.  He dropped his anger on the side of the road and kicked it aside as they walked.

 

“You could have texted me,” he grumbled half-heartedly.

 

Jon elbowed him and grinned, “You could have texted me first.”

 

Spencer huffed.  He kicked a chunk of loose ice down the road and watched it bounce and disappear down a drain.  “Thought you were mad at me,” he said.

 

Jon sighed again, swinging his arm up and cuffing the back of Spencer’s neck.  He squeezed. Spencer batted at him. “I’m not mad. I’m _worried_.  Zack was kind of mad.  He read me the riot act for ignoring you.  I think he misses having you around.”

 

“I was barely around to begin with,” Spencer grumbled.  Jon shrugged.

 

“Guess we figured we’d see you more.  Can’t have a puppy running around on their own.”

 

It was nice to have someone besides his parents worrying about him, for once.  Spencer was used to being in control, to taking care of his sisters and his friends, of making sure Haley wasn’t upset and monitoring Brendon and Ryan to make sure neither of them fell apart.  Spencer was the one his friends leaned on and he liked that, he really did, but he also got the feeling that if he tried to lean back it would crush them.

 

Jon could take it though. Jon had been there for the worst of it, when Spencer had been bitten and all the hours after that. Spencer figured that if Jon could take care of him when he was bloody and disgusting, then Jon could probably take anything else Spencer had to throw at him.

 

Maybe he needed to be a bit more careful with this relationship.

 

“So the mates thing,” Jon said, letting go of Spencer and returning his hands to his pockets. He started to walk again, and Spencer didn’t hesitate at all before following. “How’s that going for you?”

 

Spencer grinned dumbly. “It’s going well,” he said. He’d like to say that something was different, that they were more mature and talking about moving in together or starting a pack or whatever else they were supposed to be doing as grown ups, but they weren’t.  They’d barely talked about it, and everything was the same. They talked about college next year more than they talked about marriage or anything like that, but they had agreed they would both stay close, in state, to stay together. It made Spencer feel fluttery, thinking about it.

 

“Man, you’ve got it bad, huh?” Jon said with a grin.  He bumped their shoulders together and sang, “Puppy looooooove.”  Spencer shoved him off the sidewalk.

 

“I know you don’t think it’s a good idea, but I’m glad we did it,” Spencer said.

 

Jon looked at him for a long moment before slinging his arm around Spencer’s shoulders. “So long as you’re happy,” he said. “You hungry?”

 

“Always,” Spencer gushed. Jon laughed, and they caught a bus.  They ate pizza and shared a can of coke at the tiny hidden restaurant. Really, all other pizza tasted awful in comparison.

 

* * *

 

 

Ryan Ross had ducked out of the back door of his house and was about to go knock on Spencer’s, but he froze when he saw Spencer standing in the driveway with that guy- the beard guy that Spencer said he knew from school but Ryan had never seen around.  Ryan watched them head down the street together. Not knowing what else to do, he crept around the side of the house and watched them. There they went. Ryan sighed. Spencer was always busy these days, and whenever he hung out with beard guy, he was usually out all night.

 

Glancing back at his house anxiously and deciding no, no way in hell was he going back in there.  Not tonight. He started walking down the street the opposite way Spencer had gone. He could have probably still gone to Spencer’s house. Mrs. Smith was always trying to hug him and feed him and adopt him and stuff, but it would be weird without Spencer there. He decided that if he walked far enough, his father would be passed out asleep by the time he got back.

Really, at this point, he didn’t have any other options. He pulled his hood up and set off down the street.

 

* * *

 

 

 

**January**

Things were weird.  Brendon disappeared from Spencer’s life at the same time that Jon came back into it.  For the first week of January he figured it was because of school starting up again, but it didn’t take long to register the radio silence.  IM’s went unanswered, and he didn’t call. He didn’t turn up on Spencer’s doorstep a single time since their last conversation. When Spencer called his house and received no answer, he started to get anxious.

 

He figured it was nothing, but couldn’t help but wonder if something bad had happened.

 

Except that Spencer had no idea what could have happened.  He brought it up with Jon, who was useless, saying that it was probably nothing and maybe Brendon was grounded or something.  He told Spencer to calm down, so Spencer ignored him and called him again. After four attempts in one afternoon, Spencer growing incrementally more frantic each time, there was an answer.

 

“Who is this?” an unfamiliar voice on the other line asked him in lieu of a greeting.

 

Um.

 

“Um… this is Spencer Smith… Is Brendon there?” Spencer felt very suddenly like he was in trouble for some reason, based on the man’s tone of voice alone, and he wasn’t so sure what to do about that.  He scratched at the back of his neck.

 

“Brendon cannot come to the phone right now.”

 

“Oh….” Spencer chewed on his lip. “Could you, um, tell him I called and ask him to call me back?”

 

“Brendon is not allowed to use the phone,” the voice said. “Please don’t call again. Have a blessed day.”  The phone clicked off and Spencer was left there listening to the dial tone and blinking blankly at the wall.

 

He told Jon about it, and Jon just ruffled his hair.

 

He said, “Told ya. Grounded,” and Spencer sighed.  He still wasn’t so sure that Jon was right.

 

Haley and Ryan, on the other hand, were chipper.  Ryan sprawled himself out of Spencer’s bed and kicked the desk chair Spencer was sitting in.  Spencer looked up at him and poked the bottom of Ryan’s foot. Ryan squirmed away, always ticklish.

 

“I miss having you around,” Spencer said.  Ryan looked at him for a long moment, before scoffing and kicking his chair again.

 

“I missed your mom,” he said, but Spencer knew what he really meant.

 

Later, when he was hanging out with Haley, she said, “I’m glad you’re not hanging out with that weird kid anymore.”  She was talking about Brendon, of course, because while she had met Ryan, and Ryan was definitely a weird kid, he didn’t bother her a whole lot.  He wasn’t loud like Brendon was, and even when Ryan was around at school it wasn't a big deal. He was quiet. Just give him a book and he was gone for hours.  

 

No, she didn’t mind Ryan, but she didn’t appreciate Brendon cutting into her time with Spencer, especially since he was so… vibrant. She’d only met him a few times in brief, and each time Brendon had given her a giant grin with a wave. Once they met in the doorway as Brendon was leaving and Haley was coming in, and he’d started a conversation with ‘Your hair is really pretty!’ and ending with ‘And that’s why I want to adopt a rabbit,’ and then ran home.

 

Spencer had to agree that Brendon was a little odd, but still.

 

“What do you mean?” he asked, frowning.

 

Haley rolled her eyes and moved to sit next to him, tucking herself into Spencer’s side and nuzzling his cheek. “Well, I couldn’t do this if he was here watching us, could I?” she asked.

 

Spencer smiled. “It might freak him out a little bit.”

 

“Mhm,” she said, wrapping her arm around him and setting her hand on his side, under his shirt. “You know what we should do?”

 

He had a few ideas, and so they did.

 

While Jon served well for great conversations, Haley was also pretty good at distracting Spencer from his problems. They didn’t get to do whatever they wanted all the time, but making out on Spencer’s bed was fun too.

 

* * *

 

 

Brendon was officially on lockdown.  He went to school, he went to church, and he stayed home.  When he was finally free two weeks into his sentence, just for the afternoon and on very thin ice, he got out of sight before anyone could change their mind and set out of the road to Spencer’s house and tried to think of a way to heroically punch Spencer in the face without crying because _how dare he_.

 

He was having a hard time keeping it together lately, so he wasn’t sure how well his ‘not crying plan’ was going to go, but he could try.  It wouldn’t matter if he was crying or not so long as he broke Spencer’s nose, right?

 

He thought about it for a moment before totally changing his mind.  There was no way he could break Spencer’s nose, even if he was fast enough and hit hard enough.  He couldn’t actually hit him. Brendon didn’t hurt people.

 

He’d just have to be the bigger man, then, even if Spencer was a lying, no good so-and-so.  A bastard who broke his word and told Brendon’s biggest secret and got him in the worst trouble he’d ever been in in his life.

 

Brendon was just a block away when he saw Spencer run out of the house and then down the street away. He didn’t see Brendon, wasn’t close enough, and Brendon dropped all plans of revenge to just follow after him.  He wondered where Spencer was going and if what he was doing could be considered stalking. It wasn’t like he was going to kill him in the woods or take pictures of him or whatever. He was just bored. And lonely.  And kind of mad.

 

He followed.

 

He was pretty bored and tired after about ten minutes.  He had to jog to keep up, since Spencer’s legs were longer and he was in quite a rush.  Brendon hung back, kept enough distance that Spencer wouldn’t notice but stayed close enough not to lose him.

 

Brendon was tempted to just call Spencer’s name and get his attention, but at this point, there was no way Spencer wouldn’t be able to tell Brendon had been following him, and then he would think Brendon was a creep and not want to be his friend anymore, and Brendon currently had enough people hating him at the moment, thank you very much. He kept his mouth shut.

 

They were officially out of the more populated suburb areas now, and the road was completely lined with trees on either side, interrupted occasionally by a lone house or barn. Brendon didn’t know this area very well, and he just hoped he didn’t get lost on his way home.  The cold air was starting to burn in his lungs.

 

There was a bend in the road, and Brendon watched Spencer disappear around it. When he followed him around, he had to freeze and do a double take. Spencer… wasn’t there. Which was weird. The road was straight on from there, so Brendon should have been able to see him. There was no way Spencer would have been able to get down the road out of sight in just a minute. There’s no way. Brendon stood there for a moment, looking around mystified, but Spencer had officially vanished.

He was bummed, and he would have complained out loud about it, but there was no one there to listen to him. He heard a twig snap somewhere close and he jumped.  The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and Brendon remembered every warning about sinners and creatures that lurked in the woods. He squinted into the shadows, peered closer.

 

Another twig snapped, and Brendon took off.  He scrambled home, away from the forest and whatever lurked inside it.

 

* * *

 

 

“Dude,” Jon said as soon as Spencer jogged up to the edge of the woods where they agreed to meet. “Decide you’re too cool for the moon or something?  You’re almost late.”

 

“Almost only counts in horseshoes and handgrenades.”

 

“And nukes.”

 

“I was with Haley,” Spencer said, shrugging and stuffing his hands in his pockets.  He watched the smile drop off Jon’s face before it was quickly plastered back on. Of course Jon was still upset about that.  Lowkey upset, but upset nonetheless. It was none of Jon’s business anyways, though, so Spencer was entitled to some button pushing.

 

“Make sure Haley wears a condom so you don’t get knocked up,” Jon said.  The words were mean, but his smile didn’t have a trace of hostility in it.  Even so, he shoved Jon’s shoulder.

 

“You’re a dick.”

 

“At least I have one,” Jon countered.  He grabbed Spencer into a headlock, and Spencer struggled against him, trying to shake Jon off without throwing them both into the dirt.

 

“Alright, alright,” Zack said, pulling them apart as easily as if it were sliding back a curtain. “Shut the fuck up and get naked already. The sun’s about to go down.”

 

It wasn’t as terribly surprising as it had been the first few times they’d done this.  Spencer still wasn’t comfortable with the whole situation- not like Jon who stood there ass to the wind and sprinted into the woods as soon as Zack gave him a dismissive wave of the hand.  

 

Spencer took his time, taking off his hoodie and his shoes and hesitating on the rest, until Zack reached over and shoved at his shoulder with a one word command.

 

“Strip.”

 

Zack was pretty strong, and Spencer thought that maybe he wasn’t aware of his own strength.  Spencer stumbled, but any more force would have launched him sideways into a snowbank.

 

He recovered quickly. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

 

He ducked behind a tree to take his clothes off and ignored Zack and Jon snickering at him. Whatever. He shivered, closed his eyes to focus, and felt the moon overtaking him as he shifted and changed and transformed almost as if by magic.  He didn’t emerge until he was entirely wolfed out, with paws and fur and everything. He bounded into the woods and pounced on top of Jon, nipping at his shoulder. Jon growled and played with him until Zack let out a growl that obviously meant ‘knock it off’ and expected to be obeyed.  They stopped chewing on each other and followed him further the woods.

 

They didn’t run into the Haley’s pack.  Apparently the wolf packs all got together and hashed out who owned which parts of the woods on moon nights, to prevent any conflicts. There were plenty of trees to share in Colorado.

 

Afterwards, Spencer stumbled into his clothes and collapsed flat on the ground, too exhausted to care about the snow. It was supposed to get easier with time according to Jon.  Less draining and more fulfilling. Spencer wasn’t so sure, yet. He could have fallen asleep then and there.

 

Zack was strong enough to lift Spencer off the ground in a single movement, strong hands hooking under Spencer’s arms and hauling him to his feet.  He patted Spencer on the head none too gently and nudged him along, back towards the road.

 

Later that morning, Spencer woke up in Jon’s bed.  Jon was wrapped around him, an arm around Spencer’s middle and their legs tangled together.  Spencer groaned, blinked open sticky eyes, and swallowed around a dry throat. He sat up and let his head swim for a second before pulling away from Jon and stumbling towards the restroom.  He needed to brush his teeth, drink a gallon of water, and wash all of this mud off of him. He felt disgusting, and when he looked in the bathroom mirror, he saw a trainwreck.

 

He stayed under the hot water as long as he could bear to, then got dressed in the extra clothes he’d brought and lumbered off to the living room.  His parents were under the impression that he was spending the night at Brent’s house, so Spencer had the entire day to himself. He collapsed on the couch and slept away the rest of the morning.

 

* * *

 

 

Brendon couldn’t blame Spencer for his surprise when Brendon showed up on his doorstep after twenty-two days of absence.  It was seven-thirty on a Tuesday morning, and Brendon was skipping seminary to be here. It would be pretty much impossible to be in any more trouble than he already was- he couldn’t imagine what that would look like, but he had a feeling that he’d find out if his parents discovered him playing hookie.  He bounced nervously on the balls of his feet as he rang the doorbell and tried not to throw up.

 

Spencer was still in his pajamas when he answered the door.  He was wearing grey sweatpants that were a few sizes too big and a black t-shirt with some band logo that Brendon had never seen before and probably wouldn’t be allowed to listen to if he asked. His hair was sticking up all over the place. He had a pillow crease on his cheek.

 

“Um,” Spencer said, “Good morning?”

 

“I really need to talk to you.”  Brendon forced himself to stop bouncing and instead picked at a hangnail on his thumb. He wanted to be still and in control for this conversation.

 

“Okay, shoot.”

 

Easier said than done.  Brendon bit his lip and forgot everything he’d rehearsed for this conversation.  Should he be mad? Should he yell? Should he tell Spencer exactly how much he’d ruined Brendon’s life, or should he keep it a secret?  He still kind of felt like bursting into tears, but he also wanted to punch Spencer in the face. He did have some self-control, though, so he just wrapped his arms tight around himself and took a deep breath.

 

“Why did you tell your mom?” he asked, staring at Spencer solidly and trying to look brave.  He had no idea if it worked.

 

He also couldn’t tell if Spencer was actually clueless or faking it as he said, “Um… what?”

 

Brendon clenched his fists to steady himself.  “You told your mom and she told mine. You promised you wouldn’t, Spencer. What the hell?”

 

“What…” Spencer wrinkled his nose up. “What the hell are you talking about?”

 

That caught Brendon off guard.

 

“Didn’t… you didn’t tell your mom?”

 

Spencer sighed.  He ran his hand through his hair, and it stuck up even worse than before. He was probably tired, Brendon realized.  Maybe he should have planned this better.

 

“Tell my mom what, Brendon?” Spencer sighed out.

 

Brendon shifted his weight from one foot to the other, even more uncomfortable than he started.  Spencer was starting to sound frustrated, and he didn’t want to make him mad. Spencer didn’t have a right to be mad; if anyone did, it was Brendon.

 

“You outed me,” Brendon blurted out, going for all the marbles. “I told you I was gay, and then you told your mom, and she called by house, and now my life is totally ruined.”

 

Spencer looked genuinely surprised. “What? No I didn’t.”  He uncrossed his arms and dropped them to his sides. “Brendon… oh my god, give me a minute to get ready? We’ll go somewhere and talk. Wait out here.”

 

Spencer disappeared into the house, and leaving Brendon to shiver and contemplate life on the front porch steps.  Looks like he was going to be late for school, but at this point, why not? How much worse could things possibly get?  Barely five minutes later, Spencer shot out the front door, pulling a hat on over wet hair and spitting mouthwash into the front yard.

 

“Come on, B.”  He grabbed Brendon’s wrist and pulled him away, and Brendon couldn’t find a way to open his mouth the entire walk into town.  It wasn’t a long walk, but ten minutes was a long time to walk in silence. The first restaurant they came upon was the McDonalds, and Spencer lead Brendon inside and to a booth in the back corner.  Brendon blew hot breath into his hands and wondered why Spencer wasn’t shivering.

 

There were a few sets of grandparents in the dining area having breakfast and a young mother juggling three toddlers.  It would be pretty easy to be ignored in this setting. Brendon sagged into the booth and tried to make his breathing slow down.

 

Spencer sat across from him, folding his hands matter of factly on the sticky table top, and looked Brendon in the eyes.  “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he said, “But… is it bad?”

 

Brendon swallowed hard and shook his head as he considered a real answer. He reminded himself that it wasn’t his family’s fault that they were freaking out. He was the sick one. He was the one breaking the rules, and he deserved to be punished for it. He shook his head again. “It’s not bad,” he said. “They’re a bit weird about it, sure, but nothing’s happening. They’re trying.” He looked at Spencer and gave him a smile. If he kept smiling, he reasoned, nobody would be able to figure out what was wrong.  

 

Spencer wasn’t there for the arguing, the screaming, the beating Brendon had gotten after the initial conversation.  He didn’t need to know about the way his mother just kept crying and the way his sisters wouldn’t even look at him, the way his father lead two weeks of family devotion with talks on sin and repentance and living in Christ.  The way his oldest brother came to visit and talk some sense into him, how he’d patted his knee and said ‘If you just do what he says it’ll be easier.’ The way Brendon hadn’t gotten a decent night sleep since the day he came out to Spencer, the way Brendon hadn’t even wanted to come out to his family, because he _knew_ this would happen. The way he couldn’t even blame them, just himself.  The way he felt stuck, miserable, and couldn’t seem to get out of it.

 

If he kept smiling, Spencer would have no idea. And for the most part, Spencer seemed to buy it.

 

That didn’t stop Spencer from keeping him there for over an hour, checking and rechecking that Brendon was okay.  Brendon didn’t mind, really. It was nice to talk to someone who wasn’t mad at him. He let Spencer hug him later, and he tried not to tear up over it.  He made it to school halfway through second period, and he caught hell for it later.

 

But no worse hell than he’d already been through in the past two weeks.  The yelling, the bruises, the utter disappointment and sorrow that filled his house to the brim….

 

Brendon could take it, and he could fix it.  He tried to let what he told Spencer be true.  It wasn’t that bad. Everything was fine.

 

* * *

 

 

Mrs. Smith answered the door when Ryan knocked on Tuesday morning to walk to school with Spencer.  She told him that Spencer had already left for school, asked him if he would like anything to eat, and sent him on his way with a bagel and an apple. Ryan didn’t like apples.

 

He didn’t like that Spencer had left without him either.  He made up his mind to spend the entire day with his earbuds in and not acknowledging Spencer Smith in the hallways. See how he liked being shut out or forgotten about.  Spencer was always busy these days, keeping secrets and making new friends and not telling Ryan about any of it.

 

Ryan was trying to convince himself that he didn’t care.  He told himself that Spencer was allowed to have other friends.  Spencer was allowed to spend time with other people. Why would he want to spend time with Ryan anyways?  Spencer had better things to do, but he could have at least warned him first, or maybe taken a moment to tell Ryan about his new friends and his new life that had him sneaking out at night and skipping school.  

 

For the longest time, the Smith’s had felt like a new family for Ryan.  He had sisters that he had to share the TV with and a mom who made sure he was eating and a dad who ruffled his hair and tried to talk to him about sports, and most importantly Spencer, who was so much like an older brother for Ryan that it hurt to be shut out like this.  Ryan could go over there on a bad night and pretend that it was real, that they were the family he’d been given and that his own wasn’t passed out on the bathroom floor in a puddle of vomit that Ryan would probably end up cleaning up in the morning.

 

Spencer had given him that, some semblance of normalcy, and then he ripped it away again.  Ryan shouldn’t have been surprised. He shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up in the first place.

 

That was fine.  Who needed him anyways?  Ryan would follow suit, step back and give him some space and see what happened.  Spencer would come around if he really cared about him. Ryan knew that.

 

Still.  He didn’t hold his breath.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**February**

Spencer had the house all to himself.  He’d had a headache earlier and managed to skip out on “Super Family Fun Day” with his grandfather.  The house was absolutely empty, and when he called Haley, she seemed to know exactly what he had in mind.  It was going to be awesome.

 

Spencer took the time to shower. He even used his sisters coconut body wash stuff, because she wouldn't notice if just a little bit was missing, and Spencer had only recently noticed that it smelled _amazing_.  Maybe Haley would be into that, or maybe she would laugh at him.  Either outcome was perfectly fine with Spencer.

 

He cleaned up his room up too, picking things up off the floor, throwing laundry in the hamper, stacking CDs, changing the sheets. Spencer was a gentleman.

 

Usually being with Haley was a lot like hanging out with Brendon or Ryan or Jon. They would joke around and talk and play video games. Hanging out with the guys never lead to making out, though, so Haley got bonus points for that.  His doorbell rang, and Spencer greeted her with a hug.

 

Haley stiffened in his arms, though, and stepped around him to enter the house. Spencer frowned, followed her into the living room, and tried to act casual.  He asked if she wanted to watch TV or play some video games. He tried to start a conversation about school, about a show they were both watching, about the last full moon, but it was like talking to a brick wall.  She grinned and shrugged and Spencer was having a hard time talking to himself here.

 

He hadn’t seen her around school a lot lately as she’d taken to spending her lunch periods in the yearbook room and claiming she was busy.  Spencer had believed her, because why wouldn’t he? She hadn’t been texting him back a whole lot either this last week, but Spencer hadn’t been too concerned.  Now, though, his stomach twisted with knots as he referenced an inside joke between them and she didn’t acknowledge it at all.

 

Spencer coughed awkwardly to clear the air and rubbed at the back of his neck.

 

“Want to go for a walk?” he offered, running out of options.

 

“No.”

 

Well then.

 

"What's wrong?" he asked her. “You seem sad.”

 

"I'm not sad, I'm-"

 

"Yes you are," he interrupted.  It was easier to detect lying with his heightened senses.  If body language wasn’t enough, Spencer could literally smell that she was nervous, could hear her heart pick up when she said that.

 

Spencer could barely hear over the blood rushing in his ears as she said, "I just have a lot on my mind right now."

 

Spencer chewed on his bottom lip. "Talk to me about it," he said, folding his nervous hands in his lap.  "You know you can tell me anything, Haley. What's wrong?" The silence that followed lasted ages. Spencer stared at Haley.  Haley stared at the floor.

 

Finally she let out a long, drawn out sigh, and said, "I think we need to break up."

 

Spencer didn't know the floor could drop out from under him that quickly.

 

"You... What...?" He asked, recoiling a bit.  She... what? That wasn't... How could she... But....

 

"What the hell are you talking about?"

 

"This isn't working for me, Spencer. You're a really nice guy, but... I can't keep doing this.”  

 

Spencer couldn't understand; she might as well have been speaking a foreign language.  “I don’t-”

 

"I think we should date other people.”  

 

Spencer choked on the word.  Date? _Date?_  They weren’t just _dating_ .  They’d had sex. They’d talked about this.  She’d said it herself. _Werewolves mate for life_.

 

"We're mates," he said, mouth gone dry.

 

"It doesn’t have to be a forever thing.  We’re so young-”

 

"Werewolves mate _for life_ ," he said. "You said that. You told me that-"

 

"We can’t be tied down for the rest of our lives,” she argued.  “What, do you expect us to go out and start a pack, Spencer? We’re going off to college next year, and you can’t even _be_ an alpha.”

 

Spencer’s mind was flying a mile a minute, but the words came slow. “Colorado State,” he said dumbly.  “We both got accepted…. We both-”

 

"I got accepted to SCU," she said, refusing to look Spencer in the eye.  "I'm going to California after graduation."

 

"But..." _We can still make this work,_ he thought. Long distance relationships could work. They were mated. This had to work.

 

"Its over," she said.

 

"You said we were ready," he said. "We agreed we were ready for this.  To be just you and me. For life. That's what you said." He took Haley's hand like a plea. _Don’t do this to me._

 

She pulled it away. "I was wrong, Spencer. We’re stupid kids. I was wrong, and it's not fair to either of us to keep up this charade."

 

"But..." He felt himself getting choked up and swallowed around it. "I love you…." His voice broke on the last word, and she sighed, standing.

 

"I'm done."  She shook her head.

 

"Did you meet someone else?" he asked, standing, shouting. Suddenly angry. "Is that it?"

 

"No."  She turned to him. "I didn't meet anyone else. I just can't stay with _you._ " She might as well have hit him for how badly that statement stung.  He kind of wished she had found another guy. Somehow that would have been easier to take.  "I still love you, Spence, I just-"

 

"Save it," he snapped, clenching his fists. "If you're done with me, then you can leave."

 

She didn't move. She didn’t say anything.  Spencer felt his eyes burn as they changed to gold, felt the ache in his jaw.

 

"Leave!" He shouted, stepping forward. He knew what was happening. He felt it in the claws forming on his hands and the hair on the back of his neck.

 

She didn't flinch back at all, just stared him down solidly, glaring now, eyes glowing.

 

"As if you’d stand a chance against me," she growled out. " _Puppy._ " It felt like she spat it out at him. Like an insult, different from the way Jon said it. Haley matched his glare for what felt like a long time, not giving in. Eventually she growled, deep and menacing. Spencer couldn't take it anymore and dropped his gaze. Submission.

 

"I'm really sorry," she said solidly and without any inflection. "I'll see you around."

 

"Don't count on it."  It came out as a mutter under his breath, and he stared down at the carpet until he heard the front door close, and then she was gone.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was his own fault, really.  Brendon should have known better than to be downstairs. He sat the piano bench and tapped out a familiar melody that his fingers remembered without him having to think about it, one of songs he practiced for warm ups during piano lessons.  Around him, his family was bustling around getting ready to go to temple. He should have been too, but he was trying to see if, maybe if he just kept playing and didn’t move, they’d just forget about him and leave him there.

 

“For the last time, Brendon, march upstairs and get ready. We’re going to be late,” his father said, coming over and snatching the sheet music off the piano. Jokes on him, Brendon wasn’t playing off the papers. It probably pissed his dad off pretty well when the piano kept tinkling out a melody, completely undisturbed. He sighed.

 

“Don’t want to,” Brendon said, still playing.

 

“I don’t think I asked what you _wanted_ ,” his father snapped.  “You have three seconds to get up those stairs and start getting ready.”  Brendon knew that a month or so ago that tone of voice would have sent him scrambling up the stairs to get ready immediately, before certain doom descended.  At this point, after everything, it barely phased him.

 

“I’m going to hell anyways,” Brendon challenged, song still flowing as he looped it back over, hands just barely shaking.

 

His father sighed. “Brendon… don’t even start with that now.”

 

“I’m not going to church.”

 

“You don’t have a choice!”

 

“You can’t make me!”

 

White hot pain erupted behind Brendon’s eyelids as his head slammed against the edge of the piano, and Brendon barely had time to yelp before the same hand that shoved him wrapped around his upper arm and yanked him bodily off the piano bench.  “Go get dressed,” his dad ordered. “Quickly. We’re going to be late.” Brendon tugged his arm free when his father loosened his grasp, and he took a step back away from the stairs and his father.

 

“I’m not going,” Brendon repeated, and this time his voice was shaking.  He wanted to be angry, to be raging and furious, but all he could manage was desperate.  He wasn’t sure why this argument was so important to him, but… it was bad enough knowing his family hated him, having them know he was sick.  He couldn’t face the community. He couldn’t be in that building. He couldn’t, and he wouldn’t, and- “I don’t want to.”

 

“Brendon Boyd-” his father started to say.

 

Brendon interrupted. “No!”

 

The back of his dad’s hand cracked against Brendon’s face so fast that he didn’t even see it coming.  It sent him reeling, floor ripped out from under him as he stumbled and fell. He caught himself, started to push himself up.  He put his hand up to his face because _ow._ Seriously, _ow_.  He didn’t think he’d ever been his that hard before. His face was wet. Was he bleeding? How was he bleeding?  He looked up at his father in total shock and was yanked back to his feet.

 

He smacked Brendon on the seat of the pants and pushed him off towards the stairs with the order, “Now _go._ ”

 

Brendon tripped over his own feet as the shock started to melt off of him.  His face stung, and he felt sick. He yelled, “I hate you!” Then ran up the stairs as fast as his legs could carry him, slammed his bedroom door closed, and leaned his full weight against it. He could hear his father yelling from downstairs, and he listened, ear pressed against the door. If he came up stairs, Brendon would jump out the window.

 

“Boyd? What is going on in here?” his mother asked.

 

“That little brat-”

 

“Dad! Dad leave him, we’re going to be late, let’s just go.” Mason had stepped in, and was probably guiding their dad to the door. “We can deal with this later. Everyone needs to calm down.”

 

“What that boy needs is a-” And then the front door slammed closed, and Brendon couldn’t hear anymore. He whispered a quiet thank you to the sky for Mason, who hadn’t been around for most of it and still seemed to be on Brendon’s team.  His oldest brother had a wife and toddlers and a whole life outside the immediate family, but he still came around every Sunday for church, and he still came to Brendon’s defense when nobody else would.

 

Brendon was so mad that he was shaking. He waited until he heard the van pull out of the driveway before picking himself up off the floor and getting dressed. He pulled on jeans and a jacket and tightened his tennis shoes.  He had to get out of here. He didn’t want to be home when his family got back.

 

He cracked his door open and listened, holding his breath and counting to ten and making sure the coast was entirely clear. As soon as he knew it was, he ran down the stairs and bolted from the house.

 

* * *

 

 

Spencer sent four texts in a row and couldn’t make himself wait for an answer.

**Hey.**

**Jon.**

**Are you busy?**

**I’m coming over.**

 

He received one as he was stepping out the front door, a text from Jon that read: **don’t threaten me ;p**

 

A smile tugged at the corner of Spencer’s mouth, and he felt slightly less awful for a few seconds.  Just a few. He didn’t feel any less homicidal in all honesty. With permission to head over, he didn’t waste another second.  He barely had his feet into shoes when he was out the front door and throwing himself off the porch steps. His knuckles were bloody from where he’d punched a wall.  It’d be a little while before his parents noticed the damage next to his closet door, but he should have enough time to repair it before then. Still felt stupid. Everything felt stupid, really.

 

Break up? How could they break up? Werewolves mate for _life_ . That sentence kept repeating itself over and over again in Spencer’s head. They’d been together for eight months- nearly a year. They were in love, he _knew it._ Or, he knew that he was in love, at least. Haley said that she was, but….

 

His throat hurt and he wanted to cry again, but he couldn’t live with himself if he did. He’d cry to Jon maybe. Give Jon the satisfaction of being right.  Maybe Jon wouldn’t even be sympathetic. Maybe he’d be a total asshole and say he told him so and tell him to suck it up.

 

Spencer wondered how someone who’d been so nice to him could be so _mean_. Didn’t she care about him at all?  Didn’t anything they’d had mattered? How could she just choose, out of nowhere, to change everything and move away and leave Spencer behind?

 

He wasn’t even out of his driveway when he heard Brendon’s voice calling his name. “Spencer! Hey! Spence, wait up!”

 

Spencer super did not need this shit right now. “Fuck off, Brendon,” he growled out, shoving his hands into his pockets and heading down the street.

 

“Where are you going?” Brendon asked, and Spencer heard him running to catch up. If he’d been paying attention, he would have noticed that Brendon smelled like tears and blood and nervous, terrified sweat.  He didn’t notice, though, because he didn’t pay attention. Spencer deserved a day off.

 

“I’m really not in the mood,” he snapped without slowing down or turning around. “Go away.”

 

“No.” Brendon almost seemed to laugh as he said it, which Spencer would have noticed was weird too, had he been paying attention.  Brendon finally caught up and walked next to Spencer, and then he frowned. “Why are you crying?” he asked.

 

Spencer sent him a furious glare.  “I’m not,” he bit out, scrubbing at his face again.  He wasn’t, and even if he was, he didn’t need stupid little kids to tell him about it.

 

“Spencer? What’s the matter?” Brendon sounded scared, but Spencer didn’t actually care.

 

“Just fuck off!” Spencer yelled, stopping in his tracks and turning to face him.  “I don’t want to talk to you! Leave me alone!”

 

Brendon blinked, heartbreak written all over his face, and just stared at Spencer, who actually didn’t have time for this. He turned and stalked off, hoping that Brendon had gotten the message and would finally leave him alone. The universe obviously hated him, though, because Brendon’s footsteps followed him.

 

“Spencer, come on! Just tell me what’s wrong!” Brendon pleaded.

 

Spencer’s temper was flaring, spilling out in fiery bursts and threatening to overtake him.  He was keeping a very precarious handle on it, feeling all out of sorts in his skin and fighting against the powerful temptation to take off into the woods and just give in.  He didn’t, though, he just took deep breaths through clenched teeth and tried to control himself. He closed his eyes for a moment, and suddenly something was touching him.

 

Spencer couldn’t stop himself even as he realized what was happening, that Brendon had grabbed the back of his coat and yanked.  He felt the touch and panicked. He spun around, two feet too short. Everything prickly and sore. He was lunging forward, and then Brendon was screaming.

 

Spencer was back in human form in an instant, on top of Brendon on the ground. Brendon was gasping, wide eyed and trembling, staring at his forearm, which was pouring out blood.  He trembled like a leaf as Spencer came back to himself and realized what he’d done.

 

“Brendon…” Spencer said carefully, picking himself up slowly while he felt himself panic. What had he done? Holy shit, what had he just done? “Brendon, I am so sorry.”

 

“G-get away from me!” Brendon yelled, scrambling away, clutching his arm to his chest. “Y-you. You just. I….”

 

“Brendon, it’s okay. It’s okay, we can fix this.”  He got up and helped Brendon to his feet. Brendon jerked away from Spencer immediately. Tears streamed down his cheeks.  He tripped over his own feet.

 

“Let me help you,” Spencer said, stepping forward.

 

“Get away from me!” Brendon screamed again, jerking back. He swayed on his feet for a moment, but then his eyes rolled back in his head and he crumpled. Spencer cursed and just barely caught him.

 

“Okay,” he said to himself, adjusting Brendon in his arms. “Okay. Now you’re unconscious. Okay. This is great.”  Spencer swore again when he almost dropped Brendon. “Think, Spencer,” he told himself, and then he thought. He’d take him to Zack.  Zack would know what to do.

 

“Okay, okay, you’re okay, we’ll take care of you,” he murmured, texting Jon a quick **SOS** before scooping Brendon up bridal style.  His bloody arm was pinned between their bodies, his other hanging limp.  He was light as a feather, or maybe that was just the adrenaline. Either way, Spencer barely registered the extra, awkward weight as he took off running towards Jon’s house.

 

The route cut through the woods and back alleyways, scrambling as fast as he could and peeking around corners to make sure the coast was clear.  Spencer didn’t feel like being seen carrying a bloody unconscious kid and getting arrested, being found out, and probably being killed for it. Even if he lived, it would be nearly impossible to explain to his parents, let alone Brendon’s.

 

He was gasping for breath as he vaulted up the front porch stairs and slammed into the front door.  “Zack! Zack! Open the door!” Spencer yelled, kicking repeatedly since he didn’t have a hand free to knock.  He was exhausted. His arms were aching. Brendon hadn’t stirred the whole run there. “Zack! Open the fucking door!” Spencer’s voice was on the verge of desperation, but at least the door flew open.

 

It was Jon, wide eyed and shocked.

 

“What happened?” he said, throwing open the door and pulling Spencer inside. Spencer let Jon take Brendon from him and stood there numbly. “You said ‘SOS’ but I didn’t think you meant literally!”

 

“It was an accident.  I didn’t mean to do it.  He passed out and I don’t-”

 

“Zack!” Jon yelled out, carrying Brendon to the couch and setting him down gently. “We have a problem here!”

 

“What kind of problem?” Zack demanded as he lumbered into the room.  He looked like he’d just woken up. Maybe he had.

 

Jon was crouching down next to Brendon and feeling for a pulse in his throat, laying his head against Brendon’s chest to check for breathing and a heartbeat.

 

“He’s breathing,” Jon said. “Zack, get the first aid kit, this is a lot of blood.”

 

Zack awoke in an instant, springing into action with a first aid kit, a bucket, and a wet rag.  He nudged Jon out of the way and did his thing, pressing the rag to Brendon’s forehead and cleaning the bite on Brendon’s arm. He used a large bath towel to catch the blood, though the couch was already stained.

 

“Where’d you find him?” Jon asked.

 

Spencer didn’t answer right away, and Zack glanced up after a moment.  He studied Spencer for a moment and then narrowed his eyes. His glare could have shot him dead.  “He didn’t find him,” Zack reported. “You bit him.”

 

“I didn’t mean to! It was an accident, and-”

 

“Sit down and shut up.” Zack pointed to a nearby chair. “I will deal with you in a second.”

 

Spencer sat.

 

Jon was smoothing Brendon’s hair off of his face and patting his cheek. “Wake up, kiddo. Come on. Wake up for me.”  He had something in a small cloth sack that he waved over Brendon’s nose. Brendon scrunched it up, whined, and very slowly blinked his eyes open.  As soon as he did, he jerked back violently.

 

“Whoa there, shhh, it’s okay,” Jon said quietly, dropping the bag and holding his hands up placatingly.   “It’s okay, we’re not going to hurt you, I promise. What’s your name?”

 

Jon voice didn’t calm Brendon in the slightest.  He scrambled back on the couch with saucer plate eyes.  “Who are you?” Brendon demanded, breathing way too fast and chest heaving. He was probably going to hyperventilate and pass out again. He whipped his head around, examining the room.  His eyes settled on Spencer and he froze.

 

“I’m a friend of Spencer’s. My name is Jon,” he soothed.  Brendon calmed down enough that Jon touched his knee without him freaking out. “Can you tell me what your name is?”

 

“B-Brendon…” he stuttered, trembling again.  He didn’t tear his eyes away from Spencer. Spencer couldn’t handle it and looked away.

 

“How old are you, Brendon?” Jon asked.

 

He heard Brendon’s gulp as he answered, “Almost fourteen.”  A whimper caught his attention, and Spencer glanced back up and saw Zack patching his arm up.  The bite was right above Brendon’s elbow, wrapping almost his entire skinny arm. God, Spencer could have torn him to shreds.  He dropped his head into his hands and tried not to hyperventilate as well. That was going to leave a nasty fucking scar.

 

“Shh, hey, it’s alright,” Jon said. “This is Zack.  He’s going to fix you up, okay? How are you feeling?”

 

“I think I’m gonna throw up.” Brendon did look pretty green.

 

Zack didn’t turn to look as he barked, “Bucket under the kitchen sink,” and Spencer leapt to his feet to get it.

 

He returned with the bucket just in time, because as soon as he set it in front of Brendon, Brendon emptied his stomach.  Jon sat on the couch next to him and rubbed the back of his neck, reassuring him that he was okay and that this happened sometimes, DNA makeovers were a bitch, he’d be okay. Brendon dry heaved in answer.  Jon pressed the cold rag to the back of his neck and rubbed his back.

 

While that was all going on, Zack finally turned his attention away from Brendon and turned to Spencer with a fiery glare.  He stayed there a moment, as if contemplating how to go about murdering him, before he turned and stormed into the kitchen. Spencer hurried after him.

 

“You had better have a good explanation for this,” Zack said as he scrubbed blood off his hands in the kitchen sink.  

 

Spencer couldn’t put together a coherent answer if he tried. He was having the worst recorded day of his life ever, coupled with giving Brendon what was probably the worst recorded day of _his_ life, and it didn’t exactly make for clear thinking.

 

“It was an accident,” Spencer repeated, “I was mad, and he grabbed me, and I just-”

 

“And you bit him,” Zack snapped.

 

“I didn’t _mean to_.”

 

“What could he have done to make you that upset, Spencer?  What the hell kind of justification could you have for this?"  Zack took a step forward, and Spencer faltered back, pretty certain that Zack actually was going to kill him this time.

 

“I didn’t mean to,” he repeated miserably. “I really, really didn’t. I would never hurt him on purpose.”

 

Jon stepped into the kitchen and froze.  He glanced between them and chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment before muttering an “Excuse me,” and walking between them to fetch a glass of water.  He took it back out to the living room, and Spencer peeked through the doorway to find Brendon slumped back over, unconscious again. He swallowed hard and risked a glance back at Zack.

 

Jon called out, “Zack, c’mere a second,” and Zack cast Spencer one more glare before storming back into the living room.  Spencer didn’t quite know what to do with himself. He followed. “Let me talk to Spencer. Tuck the kid into my bed. Can you look after him for a while?”

 

Zack glanced between Jon and Spencer and then nodded.  He pointed at Spencer. “I am preparing the world’s biggest lecture for when you get back,” he threatened.

 

Jon looked Spencer over for a second, and then pulled off the flannel shirt he was wearing over his t-shirt. “Take that off and put this on,” he said, thrusting the thing out to Spencer, who took it and did as he was told. “Can’t have you looking like a murder scene.”

 

Jon took Spencer’s arm and tugged him out of the house. Spencer hoped that Brendon was okay while he was gone, but really, Spencer wasn’t doing that great of a job taking care of him anyways. He went with Jon, who walked wordlessly down the porch and around the backyard, into the woods.  Spencer followed him, came to a halt as Jon settled down on a fallen log and patted the place beside him. Spencer crept over and sat.

 

“I’m really sorry,” Spencer whispered after a while, breaking the silence.

 

Jon sighed. “We’ll get him through this,” he said.  “He’ll be okay. We got him.”

 

Spencer nodded and folded his hands in his lap.  There were a million things to listen to out here, calming things like trees and animals and birds and traffic just a little ways off.  

 

“You wanna tell me what happened?” Jon asked.  Spencer really, really didn’t.

 

“I didn’t mean to bite him.” He felt a headache starting to throb behind his eyes. “I was upset and he wouldn’t leave me alone, and he grabbed my arm, and the next thing I knew….” He buried his face in his hands. “Oh my God.”

 

“What happened to make you upset?” Jon asked, and it felt like he was looking right through him. As if there wasn’t a single detail that Jon was missing here. Spencer didn’t know if he liked feeling so transparent.

 

He couldn’t bare to pick his head up as he explained himself.  Couldn’t look Jon in the eyes. His excuse sounded lame before it even came out of his mouth. “Haley broke up with me,” he admitted, and immediately felt like breaking.

 

Jon was on him in an instant, pressed against his side and arms wrapped firmly around him.  “Oh puppy…” he sighed, pet name making Spencer feel like an idiot. “I am so sorry….”

 

Well there it was. Spencer was crying again. He tried to pull away, but Jon just hugged him tighter, so Spencer buried his face in Jon’s shoulder instead. It was at least more controlled than earlier, all explosive and violent emotions drained out of him from the rest of the day.  He never tried to pull away, not until Spencer decided to.

 

The entire time, he didn’t ever say ‘I told you so.’  Spencer was pretty grateful.

 

* * *

 

 

“No!” Brendon hollered as soon as the front door open.  Jon jumped a foot in the air, bumping back into Spencer, who pushed his way into the house to see what the hell was going on.

 

What he found was Brendon and Zack in the living room, both of them holding game controllers and staring intently at the TV.  Brendon was perched up on his knees, slamming the buttons with his thumbs and sticking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth.  He was obviously feeling better, then. Zack looked focused but tranquil.

 

They’d only been gone for a couple hours, and that didn’t seem long enough for this big of a turn around.  

 

“Oh no!” Brendon shouted, leaping onto his feet to stand on the couch. “Nononono! Oh hell nah! That is not fair! How did you do that!? Oh my gosh! No! Oh my gosh no! Mercy! Don’t! Nononono- ah man!” Brendon flopped back on the couch and crossed his arms as the TV announced the winners.

 

“You cheated,” Brendon pouted, and Zack reached over and ruffled his hair until Brendon couldn’t control himself and cracked up.

 

“Looks like someone’s feeling better,” Jon said, nudging Spencer into the living room and closing the front door behind them. Spencer hung back as Jon crossed the room and flopped down on the couch next to Zack. To be honest, Spencer was kind of scared. Brendon was going to be so pissed at him, and it wasn’t that he was scared of Brendon, he just wasn’t entirely sure how to handle this situation. Spencer had been furious when Haley changed him. He didn’t really know what to do about Brendon.

 

“Okay, little man, ready for round two?” Jon asked, picking Brendon’s game controller off the floor and handing it to him while taking Zack’s for himself.  Brendon looked at Jon and grinned.

 

“You’re on.”

 

Zack must have taken that as his signal to leave, because he got up and crossed the room to Spencer. Spencer wanted to talk to Zack even less than he wanted to talk to Brendon.  He grimaced and glanced up at him.

 

“Let’s talk,” Zack said, motioning and then heading for the hallway. Damn. Spencer figured he didn’t have much choice but to follow.  He dragged his feet into a room when Zack opened the door for him. It was a bedroom.

 

“So we’ll have some privacy to talk,” Zack explained as Spencer looked around hesitantly.  There were a few posters tacked to the walls- a map of the town and surrounding areas with a postcard for Yellowstone National Park attached, some sort of family tree scratched out on a massive sheet of graph paper, and a rough looking flyer announcing the ‘Wolf and Human Integration Coalition: first meeting 5/24/1993.’

 

Spencer sat on the edge of the bed, and Zack stayed standing, leaning against the wall next to a pinned polaroid of a much younger Zack smiling wide, arm wrapped around the shoulder of a laughing woman. He wondered who that was, what _any_ of this stuff was, until Zack cleared his throat and drew his attention.  Zack towered over him anyways, so sitting while the man was standing made Spencer feel very small.

 

“Brendon didn’t stay down for very long,” he reported.  “I got everything I could out of him, but I’d like to hear your story as well.  His was… a little hard to follow.”

 

Spencer nodded, understanding. “He can be a bit of a handful.”

 

“His spirits are significantly higher now, though he won’t explain what he was doing there in the first place.  Did he hit his head when he fell? It looks… I’m not sure, but he’s being pretty squirrely about it.”

 

“Brendon’s squirrely about everything,” Spencer said, then made himself think.   “He was bleeding before, I think… he seemed pretty upset. We’re friends. He’s been over before, so it’s not weird that he would be there.”

 

“You were upset, too,” Zack guessed.

 

Spencer glanced up and found him staring.  He dropped his gaze. “No, I’m not,” he mumbled.

 

Zack actually laughed, letting out a chuckle which made Spencer scowl. “You are a shitty liar, kid.  Damn. You know I could just ask Jon, right? He’ll tell me.”

 

“Ask him then,” Spencer growled, crossing his arms over his chest and scowling at the floor.  Zack sighed heavily.

 

“Fine. We have something else to talk about anyways,” he said. The bed dipped next to Spencer when Zack sat down. “Look at me, Spencer.”

 

Spencer didn’t actually want to, so he kept his eyes on the floor and refused to acknowledge him. He figured Zack was going to take his head off. He already knew that he fucked up, he didn’t need a damn lecture.

 

“Spencer,” Zack repeated sternly, and Spencer’s eyes flicked up automatically.  “We don’t have to talk about what happened, but we should talk about what happens next.”

 

Spencer frowned, glancing down before glancing back up again. “What happens next?”

 

“It’s hard being a wolf these days, in today’s society.  But it’s even harder being Bitten. Jon and me were born for this, we were raised to know how to handle ourselves, but this has been all new for you, and it’s going to be all new for Brendon.  He needs someone to take care of him and watch his back, and I mean that. I chewed Jon out good for not keeping a close enough eye on you. I’m going to need you to step up and keep Brendon out of trouble, because for us, trouble could be a matter of life and death.”

 

That was a lot to think about.  Spencer stared at the floor and considered the implications of that, of his apparent new role as supernatural babysitter.  Zack added, “We need to keep better tabs on you, it seems. I never meant to be an alpha, you know. This is a learning experience for all of us.”

 

Spencer glanced up at Zack and raised an eyebrow.  Someone as imposing as Zack, not meant to be an alpha?  The pdf’s Jon had sent him said that position in a pack was determined by fundamentally physiological means, that alpha’s were ‘born for it.’  Zack definitely fit the description. Spencer wasn’t sure how else this sort of thing could shake out.

 

“That being said,” he continued.  “This cannot and will not happen again, or I will kick your ass from here to next Tuesday.  You understand me?”

 

Spencer very quickly remembered why he’d been afraid of Zack a few minutes ago.  He nodded mutely, and Zack nodded back, apparently satisfied. “Go talk to the kid, then,” he said.

 

Spencer let Zack tug him up and steer him out of the room with a firm hand on his shoulder. He didn’t mind the encouragement too much, as he wasn’t sure he could have walked out there by his own free will.  When they got to the living room, Brendon and Jon were still absorbed in a cut throat game of Mario Kart. Brendon stopped when they walked in, though, controller falling to his lap and head turning in their direction.  His character came to a stop in the middle of the track. Spencer caught Brendon’s eye and forced himself not to look away, while Zack moved through the living room to the kitchen, and Jon lounged back and kept playing as if nothing else interesting was happening.

 

He cleared his throat. “How ya feeling?”

 

Brendon immediately tumbled off the couch, scrambled to his feet, and threw himself at Spencer.  He squeezed him in a bone crushing hug that had Spencer wheezing a little. Spencer gaped down at him and hesitantly hugged back, looking at Jon with wide eyes as if Jon might help him out. Jon was still playing his game, but now he had a subtle smirk on his lips.  Spencer glared.

 

“You scared me to death, you asshole,” Brendon mumbled into his chest before pulling back and socking Spencer in the arm.  Spencer laughed, surprised, and Brendon hit him again.

 

“Ow, shit, knock it off,” he said, still laughing, trying to hold Brendon at arm’s length.  The kid launched himself instead, taking them both down. Spencer got an elbow to the jaw as Brendon landed on top of him.

 

“Ow,” Spencer said again. “Damnit, Brendon.”

 

“Be in pain,” Brendon grumbled, snuggling into Spencer’s chest and clinging onto him.  “You bit me. You deserve it.”

 

That statement made Spencer really sad, but he knew from the forced cuddling that Brendon couldn’t be too mad at him. That made things better, somehow.

 

“Get the fuck off me,” Spencer complained, squirming. Brendon just snuggled tighter, nuzzling Spencer’s neck, which caused Spencer to make gagging noises and push Brendon off. They ended up wrestling on the floor again, all knees and elbows and smushed faces and loud complaining.

 

Jon laughed from his position of safety on the couch, while Spencer gave up and consented to Brendon snuggling up on top of him.

 

“Don’t you just love puppies?” Jon asked.

 

Spencer heard the ‘thump’ that meant Zack hit Jon with a pillow.

 

* * *

 

 

Zack and Jon didn’t ask Spencer or Brendon when they were going to leave, so neither of them bothered to consider going home. It was late in the evening when it finally came up.

 

“Brendon,” Jon said over a dinner of delivery pizza they were eating at the kitchen table, cleared off for the first time in months. “Won’t your parents be wondering where you are, bud?”

 

Swallowing his bite of pizza, Brendon set his slice down on his plate and looked at the table with great intent, suddenly slightly pale. “Oh. Yeah I guess… they might….”

 

Jon frowned, and every pair of eyes at the table settled on Brendon, who squirmed uncomfortably.

 

Brendon had almost totally forgotten what had happened that morning, and he’d rather continue forgetting about it.  His family would have gotten back from temple hours ago, and they must have been surprised to find him missing. He was already in trouble, being missing would just mean more trouble… maybe not going home tonight wouldn’t be the worse thing he could do… How much worse could it really get?

 

“I was wondering.” Brendon squirmed a bit, not knowing if he was totally imposing and being impolite, but not considering home to be an option at all. “Could I, um, maybe, like, it’s totally cool if you say no. That’s alright. I don’t want to be rude or anything. It sucks when people are rude and they don’t know they’re being rude and the other people around them are just like ugh oh my god get this kid out of here he’s so annoying, but I get that response a lot, I mean, I talk a lot. My dad says I talk too much. So maybe-”

 

“Brendon,” Spencer eventually said, cutting him off and kicking him under the table.

 

Brendon felt himself blush. “Could I maybe possibly stay here tonight?” He asked, eyes darting around and eventually settling on Zack, who Brendon figured was in charge here.

 

Zack shrugged.  “Fine by me.”

 

Brendon beamed. He was totally going to get it when he finally went home, and he’d like to put that off as long as possible. He was lucky these guys were awesome.

 

“I’ll stay too,” Spencer said quickly, and this time everyone turned to stare at him. Brendon cocked his head to the side. “If that’s okay,” he added. “So I can. Y’know. Keep an eye on Brendon.”

 

Brendon took slight offense to the idea of being someone who needed taking care of. He was fourteen, and like, practically an adult, practically.

 

“Yeah,” Jon finally said after a long look at Spencer. He nodded. “Yeah. It’ll be like a sleep over.” He grinned, and Brendon decided he really like Jon’s grin. It was so friendly. It made him feel safe.

 

Zack wasn’t grinning though. He groaned. “If you brats keep me up all night, I’ll beat you with this.” He waved the spoon from the salad bowl menacingly, but he was grinning, so it was playful.  Didn’t matter. Brendon flinched.

 

“We’ll be quiet,” Brendon said quickly. “Cross my heart!” He did so, too, just to prove it. Zack looked like he was trying to hide a smile. Spencer rolled his eyes and kicked Brendon again.

 

“Call your families and let them know you’re fine,” Zack added.  “I’m not getting arrested for kidnapping tonight, thank you.” Brendon really didn’t want to do that, but it wasn’t like he had a choice.  His mom would totally call the cops if he stayed gone all night, considering he usually never went anywhere. Not wanting to call his parents, he called Mason’s cell phone.  Mason would be mad about having to break the news, but at least he wasn’t their father.

 

* * *

 

 

It was three a.m. when Brendon woke up because something was wrong.  He wasn’t sure how he knew, but when he tried to go back to sleep, he couldn’t.  He could just feel the negative energy or something, and it was driving him crazy.  He considered that it may have been the fault of too many sodas, and got up and went to the bathroom.  He peed and splashed cold water on his face to settle his nerves. He ran the cold water over his wrists too, but it didn’t help. He was still twitchy.  He glanced in the mirror and pressed his fingertips to his cheek, to his forehead. He winced. At least the bruising was light.

 

Someone was upset.  Brendon wasn’t sure how he knew that either. He could… smell it? He could smell someone being sad, or something like that, and when he exited the bathroom he heard whispered voices from somewhere within the apartment.

 

“I can’t, Jon. I just can’t, okay? I’ll... I have to find someplace else to live. But I can’t stay there. I’m too dangerous.”  That was Spencer’s voice, and it was hushed and panicky.

 

“Spence,” Jon’s voice joined in.  Being the youngest of five made Brendon a grade-A eavesdropper.  He pressed his ear to the door to listen, but found that he could hear just fine without doing so.  Weird. Totally, totally weird.

 

“Your family is going to notice if you’re gone.  You can’t just _leave_.”

 

“I’m going to hurt them! I already bit Brendon. Do you know how many close calls there have been? My parents would never forgive me if I hurt my sisters. I would never forgive me.”

 

Jon sighed. They were both really upset.  Brendon was almost 100% sure he could smell it.  Almost.

 

“It’s bad enough that their son is a werewolf, and they don’t even know about it. I’m not doing that to anyone else.”

 

“Hey,” Brendon could tell Jon was frowning. “There is nothing wrong with being a werewolf.”

 

“I’m sorry.  I’m sorry. I just.  Jon you know what everyone else thinks about all this….”

 

“I don’t care what humans think. They’re wrong.”

 

“What if next time I don’t just bite someone. What if I kill them? What if there's an accident and I kill Jackie or Crystal, or my mom or dad? Or what about Ryan? I couldn’t live with myself after that.”

 

“It gets easier.”

 

“But it’s not easy right now! And I’m dangerous! I’m obviously dangerous! I bit Brendon!” Spencer’s voice rose and sounded desperate, but Jon shushed him gently, and their voices dropped back to whispers.

 

“I’m leaving home. I don’t have a choice.”

 

“Fine,” Jon said. “Then you’ll move in here.  I’ll talk to Zack. We’ll figure it out, okay?”

 

There were a few sounds from the other side of the door, muffled sounds that Brendon couldn’t identify just from listening.  They stayed almost silent for a while, and Brendon was about to go back to bed.

 

“Shhh.” Jon’s voice came out smooth as silk. Brendon really liked Jon’s voice.  Jon should talk a lot, Brendon thought. He had the kind of voice that deserved to talk a lot. “Shhh, puppy, it’s okay. Shhh.”

 

Brendon figured that he had heard all there was to hear and tiptoed back to the couch in the living room, which was the fancy kind that turned into a bed if you pulled the right part. He curled up under the blankets which were now icy cold, but he was magnificently warm all the time since Spencer bit him. Wow, that sounded weird in his head.   _Spencer bit him._ He figured the heat was one of his new x-men powers, and he liked it, even though he sweated a bit too much for his own liking already. At least this way he wouldn’t be too cold during the winters.

 

It didn’t take very long to fall back asleep, but he had really weird dreams when he did, and he woke up with a stomach ache.

 

* * *

 

 

When Spencer woke up the next morning, Jon’s arms were wrapped tight around him again.  That might have just been an occupational hazard of sharing a bed with Jon. Spencer grumbled and glanced around, found them curled up on top of the covers of Jon’s bed.  Spencer considered getting up and moving somewhere less incriminating, but Jon was _warm_ and Spencer was _tired_. He sighed.

 

Jon mumbled in his sleep and shifted, then his eyes blinked open. “Hey,” he saw around a yawn.  “Fancy meeting you here.”

 

Spencer pulled out of Jon’s grasp and sat up, stretching his arms up above his head and yawning.

 

Jon smiled sleepily up at him. “Such a puppy.”

 

Spencer ignored him.  “Do you guys have coffee?”

 

“Aren’t you kind of young for coffee?” Jon sat up and yawned again, scratching his stomach where his t-shirt rode up. Spencer scoffed. “In the kitchen. C’mon.”

 

Spencer followed Jon out of his room and down the stairs. When they walked into the kitchen, Brendon was already up, hand raised and hesitating in front of a cabinet door.

 

“You lost?” Jon asked, and Brendon leapt out of his skin.  

 

He whirled around and yelped out, “Sorry!”  Spencer and Jon glanced between each other and exchanged frowns.

 

“What?”

 

Brendon was blushing now and fidgeting. “Nothing, nothing,” he said quickly. He watched Jon as he got the coffee maker started and bounced on his toes a bit. “Can I have some?” he asked.

 

“No,” Spencer answered immediately.  “That is the last thing you need, I swear.”  Brendon pouted at him and crossed his arms, but Spencer was unphased.  He jumped up on the counter to sit and looked at Brendon a little more closely.

 

“Where’d that scratch on your cheek come from?” he asked.

 

Brendon looked absolutely, amazingly guilty for a second before snapping his mouth closed and dropping his gaze. “Oh,” he said. “Just nothing. I don’t even know how it got there.  Probably happened when I fell, you know how clumsy I am.”

 

Spencer raised a skeptical eyebrow, because Brendon was really the shittiest liar in the history of everything. Spencer didn’t even need to be able to smell the guilt radiating off of the boy to know he was bullshitting. Brendon wouldn’t look him in the eye and he was fidgeting all over the place.

 

“Brendon….”

 

Brendon’s eyes snapped up to look at Spencer for a second and they kept eye contact for a moment before Brendon spoke. “I’m fine, Spence. I promise I’m fine. I was doing handstands and I fell and I didn’t want to tell you cause that’s embarrassing but yeah, I cut my face and I’m fine, really.”

 

Spencer blinked slowly.  If he wasn’t conditioned to Brendon’s nervous babbling, he’d probably have the same facial expression as Jon, which looked like he’d been hit with a brick, absolutely perplexed.

 

“Brendon,” Spencer said again.

 

Brendon shook his head quickly. “Everything’s fine, Spencer. Really.”

 

Spencer opened his mouth to argue, but then Brendon mumbled something about needing to pee and darted out of the kitchen, nearly running into Zack in the process.

 

Zack looked disgruntled. “It is too damn early for my kitchen to smell this nervous. Take your teenage hormones to someone else’s cornflakes.”

 

Spencer rolled his eyes and Jon cooed, “Awwww poor baby.”

 

Zack growled playfully in response, and Jon just grinned.

 

“Seriously though,” Zack said, pouring himself an actual bowl of cornflakes. “Who the fuck is messing up the zen?”

 

“My teenage hormones,” Spencer said, taking the cup of coffee from Jon’s hands and hopping off the counter, walking to the living room to plop down on the couch.

 

“Zen?” he heard Jon ask incredulously.  “Really, Hall? You’ve been hanging out with the fairies too much.”

 

* * *

 

 

After what might have been the worst thrashing Brendon had ever received, the last thing he wanted was to talk to his sister.  He understood why it happened, agreed that he’d earned it. Fighting with his father, skipping church, running away from home, and staying out all night were no small crimes, but that didn’t mean he thought it was fair.

 

His father had asked Brendon if he realized he was breaking his mother’s heart, and Brendon hadn’t actually.  But it figured. It hurt deep in his gut and made it hard to breathe, but it wasn’t much of a surprise.

 

His father hated him- absolutely hated him. He might as well kill himself now and save his family the disappointment later. A homosexual and a werewolf and nothing to do to fix any of it.  There were no perks as far as he could tell; he’d rather not be able to eavesdrop on his family downstairs, and he really didn’t need another reason to be twitchy.

 

He didn’t look up when Kara walked in, but he’d heard her coming the moment she’d touched the stairs.

 

“Brendon,” she said, sitting on the edge of his bed.  Brendon didn’t move, didn’t pull his face from his pillow to look at her, and hoped that if he held still long enough she’d get the message and go away.

 

“Brendon, come on. He didn’t hurt you that bad, did he?” Kara was rubbing Brendon’s back now, but rather than relaxing him, it made Brendon feel totally on edge.

 

“I’m fine,” he said into his pillow. “Go away.”

 

“It’s just a spanking, Brendon. I know you’re dramatic, but this is a bit much,” Kara sounded kind of exasperated, and Brendon just wanted to curl up in a ball and die.  

 

“When he takes the belt to you, then we can talk,” Brendon grumbled.  He pulled his pillow over his head to hide. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

 

“You asked for it, y’know. Talking to Dad that way, and then staying out all night.  You scared us all to death.”

 

“I already got a lecture.”

 

“We were really worried about you, kiddo.”

 

Brendon didn’t actually care right at that moment. “Get out of my room,” he said.

 

“You’re gonna have to stop moping eventually,” Kara reminded him, and Brendon pulled away from her and clutched his pillow tighter.  

 

“Just get out,” he pleaded, and with one more squeeze of the shoulder, she did.

 

* * *

 

 

 

**March**

Spencer caught absolute hell for his spontaneous sleep over.  He hadn’t so much called and asked permission as he had called, announced that he’d be staying out late, and then hung up.  His parents had more patience than he could have ever expected, but that didn’t save him from the mother of all lectures the second he stepped through the front door.  Spencer stood still and took it, listening to his mother go on and on about communication and responsibility and worrying her to death, and who did he think he was anyways- though Spencer didn’t listen to most of it.  He was pretty caught up in his own head.

 

After a good deal of yelling and going on, Spencer lost a bit of control over himself.  He stepped in and hugged her mid-sentence, right in the middle of her tirade. She froze, open mouthed and mid-word, but eventually wrapped her arms around him.  Spencer sighed.

 

He was well aware that he hadn’t hugged his mother willingly since her birthday, which had been well over six months ago.  It wasn’t that he wasn’t a touchy guy, it’s just that this was his mom, and they had been on ends with each other for a while.  He wasn’t a little boy anymore. It was a weird thing to think about.

 

But when Spencer thought about leaving home, or thought about how disappointed his parents would be to find out that their son was a werewolf… it just made him sad, and it made him need to hug his mom, because what if he didn’t get to again? He’d probably regret that.

 

“Is everything alright, Spence?” His mom was using that gentle nervous voice that she used when Spencer came home from school crying in fifth grade, because some idiot dumped milk on his head on the bus, or two years after that, when his dog had died, or every time after that when Ryan had come over in the middle of the night and wouldn’t tell anyone but Spencer what was actually going on. His mom was good at gentle nervousness.

 

“I’m sorry,” was all Spencer said, hugging her tighter. She hugged him back just as tight, managing to completely smother him in the hug, which confused him a bit since he was bigger than she was now.

 

“Don’t think this is getting you out of being grounded,” she said, and Spencer laughed despite himself.

 

“Yeah. Yeah Mom, I know.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was at dinner that night, the entire family crowded around the dining room table, that Spencer’s father dropped the bomb. Setting his fork down and rubbing his hands together, he looked at each person individually, smiling.

 

“I have some exciting news,” he announced.

 

Mom and Dad exchanged a glance, while the twins shot identical skeptical looks their direction. Ryan didn’t respond, instead taking great interest in his pees, and Grandpa continued battling his shaking hands as he carried a forkful of pasta towards his mouth, eyes attentively on his son.

 

“My boss called me into his office today-” he stared, and was interrupted.

 

“Are you in trouble?” Jackie asked, and Crystal elbowed her.  Spencer kicked them under the table, and Ryan glanced up just to shrug.

 

Spencer’s dad continued without missing a beat. “-and he said that corporate has been considering several employees for a promotion, including me. They decided yesterday. You are now looking at the new vice-president of sales!” He beamed.

 

“That’s great, Dad!” Crystal gushed.

 

Spencer gave him a smile. “Yeah, Dad, that’s awesome.”

 

“We are so proud of you,” their mother said, setting her hand on her husband’s arm.  He smiled back, and they shared another one of those looks. Spencer rolled his eyes and went back to his dinner, grateful that the news wasn’t anything life altering.

 

“The position is in Indianapolis, and I start next month.”

 

Spoke too soon.

 

The sound of metal clattering against porcelain was deafening as Ryan dropped his fork in the silent room.  Spencer stared ahead, studied the looks on his and his mother’s faces, and tried to figure out their true intentions here.  His dad looked nervous, like he knew this conversation wouldn’t go over well. His mother just sat there and smiled.

 

“You’re kidding, right?” Jackie finally said, eyebrows up to her hairline. “Where even is that?”

 

Their mother’s smile had slowly faded off her face, but she was working on putting it back on. “This new position is good for you. And we could all do with a change of scenery,” she reasoned.

 

Spencer didn’t know how to feel about this revelation, and he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel about it.  He glanced over to Ryan, who looked like he was five seconds away from throwing up.

 

“The job comes with a house,” their mom supplied, smiling widely at the room at large. Ryan continued staring at his plate, and Spencer continued staring at Ryan and trying to read his mind. It wasn’t working very well.  Ryan had a difficult mind to read, and half the time Spencer tried he got it totally wrong. Still, it didn’t take much of a psychic gift to realize that Ryan was upset.

 

“There’s enough room for Grandpa,” Mom kept smiling.  Ryan’s face started to turn red.

 

“We’ve already started making arrangements,” she added, really trying her best here. The girls looked devastated.  Spencer picked at the food remaining on his plate.

 

Grandpa set his fork down and abandoned his noodles.  He folded his hands on the table and said, “Guess we’d better start packing.”

 

Ryan’s chair slammed against the floor and Spencer was immediately on his feet and following him out the door.  He wasn’t hard to find. In fact, Spencer nearly tripped over him and fell off the front porch as he plowed through the front door.

 

Spencer pinwheeled, caught his balance, and joined Ryan on the porch steps.  “Hey…” he said, keeping enough space between them to keep Ryan comfortable. Ryan was sitting with his knees drawn up, arms crossed over them, and chin resting on his arms.  He didn’t move or acknowledge Spencer, who cleared his throat and tried again. “So this sucks, huh?”

 

He knew Ryan, and he knew that if he waited for Ryan to talk first they’d be waiting there all night.  Spencer was stubborn, but he was also realistic. It was a little cold to be sitting outside at night these days.

 

“You’re leaving,” Ryan bit out, voice barely above a whisper although Spencer had no trouble hearing him.  Spencer chewed on his thumbnail and thought about that, wondered if he ought to be talking about things he wasn’t certain on yet.

 

Ryan sighed, long, tired, and dejected, and Spencer made up his mind.  “I’m not leaving,” he said. Ryan narrowed his eyes in a glare.

 

“Don’t be an idiot. And don’t do that, you’ll get my hopes up, and then you’ll leave, and-”

 

“Ryan,” Spencer interrupted. “I can’t explain how right now, but… I have a way to stay around when my family leaves.  You just gotta trust me on this one, okay?”

 

Ryan sighed again and closed his eyes.  “You’re a liar.” Spencer scootched a bit closer on the steps and bumped their knees together, prompting Ryan to speak.  “I don’t know how I’m going to get through this without you here….” he mumbled.

 

Spencer swallowed his guilt and responded, “You won’t have to.”

 

Spencer wondered if humans made packs without realizing it, if friendship and love was a comparable experience.  He’d made up his mind a long time ago to take care of Ryan, and even if Ryan didn’t think he needed taking care of, he relied on Spencer more than anyone else. Spencer knew this. He also knew that there wasn’t any real hesitation in the decision he was making.  He’d talk to Jon and Zack. He’d break the news to his parents. He’d say his goodbyes, if he had to. Everything would work out.

 

Everything always worked out.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Spencer’s life fell into a pattern. Get up, go to school, come home, check on Ryan, check on Brendon, go to sleep, repeat.  He kept busy, between that predictable pattern and all the packing his parents roped him into. The more he helped with the move, the more anxious he felt about the situation.  Time was ticking away before the big move, before the announcement, and well Spencer didn’t think he’d have to deal with this until leaving for college next year.

 

Spencer had an awful lot of worrying to keep him busy in his schedule.  He worried about his family, and he worried about Brendon. They didn’t talk much, but every few days Spencer’s phone would ring and he’d get a brief update on the situation, which primarily boiled down to Brendon saying, “I’m fine, yeah, everything’s great,” and Spencer not totally believing him.

 

Zack kept harassing him about bringing Brendon around more, making him part of the pack.  He was also a little worried, if Spencer had to guess. He didn’t ask, though, and Zack didn’t tell.  Spencer had a hunch that Zack wasn’t too keen on talking about feelings.

 

So while Brendon was still a problem to be solved, Ryan was pretty straight forward in his distress.  He was horribly skeptical of Spencer’s promise not to leave while simultaneously despondent by his seemingly inevitable departure.

 

So Spencer put a lot of energy into worrying about the two of them, and somehow found more energy to try and plot out The Conversation.  The ‘ _you go ahead and move to Indiana, I’ll stay here with my wolf pack, oh right, by the way I’m a werewolf_ ’ conversation. He couldn’t think of a single way it could go well, and he couldn’t quite find the guts to start it.  Everything else was going to hell on its own accord. Spencer wasn’t ready to destroy another thing in his life on purpose.

 

Even so, a week after his dad’s big announcement, when his mother got on him ‘ _for the fifth time Spencer James Smith_ ’ that he needed to start packing, he realized he couldn’t put it off much longer. If he kept putting it off, he’d end up in Indianapolis with his family, and that wasn’t really an option.

 

He knew that, of course, but that didn’t mean he was ready to just say goodbye.

 

He told them during dinner, right after everyone had finished eating, with just his parents and sisters in attendance. He’d spent a long time debating whether he should come out in front of the girls, but eventually decided that they were twelve, they could handle it, and they deserved to know why their older brother was disowning himself from the family.

 

He started with, “I have something really serious to tell you….” and after the words “I’m a werewolf” came out of his mouth, it felt like nobody took a breath for a million years. All eyes were on Spencer, which Spencer absolutely hated. Jackie’s mouth was hanging wide open, and Crystal looked scared. His father couldn’t stop blinking, and his mother wore a worried frown.

 

“Spencer….”

 

Afraid of hearing what she had to say, he decided it was best to keep going.

 

“Six months ago,” he explained.  “The first time I stayed out all night…. I got bit, and then another wolf found me and took me in, and I’m kind of their pack now. That’s why I’ve been all moody and weird and awful to you guys, and I’m really sorry about all of it, but I didn’t know how to tell you before. But now you’re moving, and I can’t leave my pack, and I can’t leave Ryan. I’m really scared that I might accidentally hurt one of you, so…” He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders.  “When you move, I’m staying here.”

 

Spencer didn’t breathe while he awaited his fate.  He watched his father mull it over, turn to him very slowly and look him directly in the eyes.  His father said, “Spencer James, if this is any kind of a joke-”

 

“It’s not,” Spencer interrupted.  “I swear.”

 

With that, his father slipped his glasses off his nose and rubbed a hand over his face.  He braced his elbows on the table for a moment, and the room was still and silent as they watched him.  Eventually, finally, he let out a ragged breath and picked his head up.

 

“Go to bed, girls,” he instructed, and they went without question, leaving Spencer alone with what felt like the judge and the executioner.  He glanced cautiously between them. Maybe he should have packed a bag, just in case. What if they kicked him out? He hadn’t even asked Zack and Jon if he could move in yet.  What if they said no?

 

Spencer was suddenly very sure that he’d just ruined his own life, and he continued to think that as his father said, “Let me get this straight….” and rubbed his eyes again.  “You’re telling me that instead of being home, you’ve been running around in the night with strange men?”

 

That… was not the part of Spencer’s confession he figured they’d have a problem with. “It’s not exactly like that…” he said.  His father raised a dubious eyebrow.

 

“Are you serious, Spencer?” his mother asked.  “About this… this werewolf thing?”

 

Spencer nodded, refused to drop his gaze and hide. “Yes,” he said.

 

“Prove it.”

 

Spencer’s heart skipped a beat in his chest.  Another curve ball. Why hadn’t he prepared better for this?  He stared at her for a moment, trying to get a read and coming up unclear.  Then he rose slowly from the table, knees shaking like the cable on an ancient elevator.  “Okay…” he said, considering his options. _Go big or go home,_ he reminded himself and made up his mind.  “Okay, give me a second.”

 

He stepped out of the room and ducked behind the fridge in the kitchen.  Spencer wasn’t ever going to get used to being naked in the woods, but it was definitely weirder getting naked in his kitchen.  He stripped down and kicked his clothes aside, too nervous to bother with folding anything. He’d be tugging it all back on in a moment or two anyways.  He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let nature take over.

 

It’s interesting, the things you get used to.  Spencer felt absolutely at home in his second skin, just as natural as if he was human.  That didn’t make it any easier to walk back into the other room and face his parents. His mother stifled a scream into a gasp, but his father looked utterly unaffected.  Spencer crept closer, moving slowly and coming off as harmless as he could imagine, knowing it couldn’t be easy staring down a three foot wolf in the dining room of their Colorado home.  He stopped a few feet away from his father, cocked his head to the side. His dad reached forward in painfully slow movements, and after a moment of hesitation, reached out and touched his ear.  

 

Spencer turned on heel and ran back to the kitchen, where he shifted back and stumbled into his clothes.  He ran back in, smoothing his hair into place and straightening his shirt. “So yeah,” he said. “I’d say I’m pretty serious.”

 

He didn’t expect his mother to immediately stand and storm out of the room, and he didn’t do anything to stop her.  His dad just squeezed her hand and let her go. Spencer did his best not to hate himself.

 

He also didn’t expect his father to have such a comprehensible list of questions.  While Spencer’s mother went out for a drive, Spencer’s father took him into the kitchen and whipped up a pot of coffee.  He poured two cups and slid one over to Spencer. It was a long night.

 

Dad wanted to know everything, from how and where it happened, to what it meant, to who Jon and Zack were and how they met and how they became werewolves and where they came from.  He wanted to know about wolf packs and the full moon and the transformations. He had questions about politics, about things he’d heard on the news, about things he’d heard in stories.  He had fears, too, and maybe Spencer had just never had a grown up conversation with his father before, but it was a pretty shocking realization, that his father could be afraid of things.

 

Spencer answered everything as best as he could, and he filled in where he wasn’t quite sure.  The hardest part was explaining how Spencer felt dangerous, how he didn’t want to put the family at risk, while also insisting that werewolves weren’t inherently violent. The whole time his father was simply asking, not accusing, even when he asked about the parts that were hard to talk about.

 

He had some qualms about Spencer decisions, about staying out all night without telling them and putting himself in dangerous situations at all, but he said he understood.  He said he appreciated Spencer telling him at all, and Spencer reminded him that he didn’t really have a choice.

 

That brought up a whole other conversation, about how it wasn’t right for Spencer to leave the family this early.  About how he was seventeen and still in high school, but Spencer insisted that eighteen wasn’t too far off and it wasn’t like he didn’t have a place to go.

 

“I want to meet these people,” his father argued, and Spencer started mentally drafting that conversation in his head.  He wasn’t looking forward to it. “That’s not my answer. I am not saying yes to this, but I want to meet them.”

 

“They’re good guys,” Spencer offered.  His dad gave one, single nod.

 

“They’d better be.”

 

The conversation stretched on, to bartering and a bit of arguing.  Spencer reasoned that he was graduating soon anyways, that it wouldn’t be fair to switch schools, and his father suggested that perhaps they could stay through May, to accommodate that, but Spencer insisted.  He wasn’t putting his father’s job in jeopardy for this. His father deserved the promotion.

 

He held his ground and argued that he was, under no circumstances, moving away from his pack.  That moving away would be bad for him, and absolutely unhealthy. That he was only six months old.

 

“You’re also only seventeen!” his father replied, the only time in the entire conversation that he raised his voice.  Spencer placated that he was almost an adult, that his parents had spent eighteen years raising him to be human. Now he needed someone to raise him to be a werewolf.

 

“This is who I am now,” he confessed, and even as he formed the words it felt right.  Something uncoiled in his chest. “Here… in Colorado. This is the best place for me.”

 

They threw in the towel around two in the morning, when Spencer heard his mother’s car turn down their street and his father ran out of questions.  He sent Spencer to bed, saying that he didn’t have to go to school tomorrow. His dad would call it in.

 

The last question he asked, in Spencer’s opinion, was the easiest one to answer.  He said, “You know we still love you, right?” and when he held his arms open, Spencer stepped into them.  Then the front door opened and his mother walked in and Spencer vanished up the stairs.

 

He woke up around eleven a.m. the next morning, dead exhausted and a little sick to his stomach.  He thought about going back to sleep, and listened to his parents moving around downstairs, and eventually he fished his phone out from under his pillow and dialed a well known number.  He placed the phone between his ear and his pillow and almost fell back asleep listening to it ring.

 

Jon’s voice woke him up again. “Hello? Spencer? Did you butt dial me?”

 

“Oh!” Spencer said, jolting awake and sitting up. “Um, ‘morning.”

 

“Good morning to you too, sleeping beauty. What’s up? Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”

 

“Stayed home today.”

 

He could practically hear Jon frown through the phone. “Why? Are you sick?”

 

“I’m fine. But….” He held the confession in his breath and kept them both in until his lungs started to burn.  He hadn’t told Jon he was going to do this, didn’t know if Jon would approve or not. But what’s said is done, and what Spencer had done couldn’t be undone by not being said.  He let out the breath and said, “I told my parents that I’m a werewolf.”

 

There was a long silence on the other end, and Spencer counted his heartbeats during it, no longer at risk of falling asleep. Eventually, Jon spoke again.  “How’d they take it?”

 

Spencer flopped onto his back and stared at the ceiling. “My mom isn’t happy,” he said.  “My dad took it pretty well, but… they’re kind of moving out of the state… and I’m kind of trying to convince him to let me stay in Colorado.”

 

“They’re moving?”

 

“Pretty soon, yeah.”

 

“And you’re staying here?”

 

“They didn’t say yes yet.”

 

Jon let out a long sigh, but he didn’t keep Spencer waiting long before saying, “I’ll talk to Zack.  We’ll have to do a bit of rearranging, but the house is too big for just the two of us anyways.”

 

Spencer’s brain short circuited as a third of the worries in his head came to a screeching halt.  “You’re letting me move in?” he asked. “Just like that?”

 

He heard Jon sigh once again through the phone, this time less tired.  “My mother runs the most prominent shelter for displaced wolves in Chicago.  Makes sense that I’d follow in her footsteps.”

 

“You don’t have to,” Spencer reassured, and considered punching himself in the face.  What was that phrase about looking a gift horse in the mouth? Jon was literally offering to keep him from homelessness, and Spencer was about to talk him out of it.

 

“You’re ours now, puppy.  Packs take care of each other.”  There was a long pause after that, because Spencer didn’t know what to say and Jon was busy moving things around on the other end.  Eventually he asked, “Are you doing okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Spencer answered.  “I think so. I… thank you, for everything.”

 

“Any day, puppy.  I got your back, kid.”

 

“Thanks,” Spencer said.  “Speaking of which… I have one more favor to ask you.”

 

* * *

 

 

A loud crash from downstairs startled Brendon awake.  He jerked up in bed with his back ramrod straight and his palms sweating, a growl nearly thundering out from his throat, because that had totally been the sound of breaking glass.  He felt his eyes switch back and forth as the adrenaline pumped through him: _wolf_ human _wolf_ human _wolf_ human… He got up and peaked out the door, venturing a glance into the hallway.  Valerie, his oldest sister, was standing in her doorway with a glass of water and a frown.

 

“They’ve been going at it for a while,” she explained.  “It’s early. You don’t have to be up yet. Go on back to sleep.”

 

Brendon crept back into his room and took care to shut his door absolutely silently.  He stopped midstep, cringing, as his mother’s voice hissed, _“You cannot keep doing this Boyd!”_ What was meant to be a whisper came through loud and clear to Brendon’s ears.  He dove back into bed and pulled his pillow tight over his ears, not wanting to hear anymore than he had to.

 

It sounded so close, they might as well be yelling right outside Brendon’s bedroom door.  But there were telltale noises of unloading a dishwasher and his father’s slippers on that specific squeaky floorboard by the fridge to reassure them that they were downstairs.  He searched for anything else to listen to, anything else to tune in one. He heard a shower start up down the hall, heard Valerie open a dresser drawer. Down the street a ways, a neighbor’s car backfired as he went to start it.  Someone else’s microwave dinged.

 

_“Do you know what happens to people like him-”_

 

_“You have no right-”_

 

_“I am leading my family as God intended, Grace-”_

 

_“He needs real help!  What you’re doing isn’t working!”_

 

_“Are you saying it’s my fault that our son is a-”_

 

Brendon couldn’t make himself listen to this.  It was making his stomach churn, but his ears just wouldn’t turn off.  They wouldn’t go back to normal, to _human._  He didn’t want to listen.  Brendon pressed the pillow tighter and shut his eyes, trying to block it out and get the stupid wolf senses to _turn off._  

 

His parents were fighting.  His parents never fought, not like this.  Occasionally they would gripe at each other about money or the schedule or something that didn’t really matter, but they had never held shouting matches in the kitchen at seven in the morning.  This was new, and it was Brendon’s fault. He could still hear them crystal clear, so he just ground the heels of his hands harder against his ears.

 

He could fix this.  He had to find a way to fix this.  He’d be better, and he’d stop getting in trouble.  He’d be the way they wanted him to be, or at least pretend convincingly enough.  Then his father would stop being angry, and his mother would stop crying, and they wouldn’t have to fight when everyone else was asleep.  He had to fix it, because things couldn’t stay as they were. Brendon was running on empty, so keyed up half the time that he couldn’t fall asleep at night, and so exhausted in the mornings that he could barely stay awake in class.  He was panicked, hypervigilant, and nearly always felt bruises these days.

 

Encouragement to be better, he reminded himself, and then tried not to think about it.  He listened as their fight escalated below him, as their voices raised and his mother spat out something vicious, of the too familiar sound of skin hitting skin.  Brendon forgot how to breathe for a moment.

 

This was his fault.  All his fault, and his mom was suffering for it.  He could be better, he _had_ to be better, because he didn’t know if he could survive things getting any worse.

 

* * *

 

 

Spencer’s parents were both shocked and mildly terrified to find Jon and Zack on their doorstep later that afternoon.  Spencer had invited them over earlier, figuring that they might as well get this meeting over and done with, since the conversation was still smoking from the night before.

 

Zack greeted both of his parents with a firm handshake, and Spencer knew this would be a good idea.   Zack was an adult and responsible and really good at taking care of people. His parents would have to feel better about him leaving if they knew he wasn’t going to be completely on his own.

 

They talked for a long time about some things Spencer understood and some things he didn’t.  Questions about wolf stuff, yes, but also about employment and finances and personal histories.  Spencer’s father might have been unprepared for all of this, but he was taking it like a champ, pulling questions out of thin air and leaving absolutely no stone unturned in the situation.  He asked for proof that they were werewolves, and he didn’t fumble on the word at all. Zack shifted without a second thought, his eyes glowing and his teeth sharpening, his nose elongating and skull flattening as fur thickened in his beard, and then it was all gone.  Spencer’s mother was white as a sheet. Jon simply shifted two fuzzy ears from the sides of his head and wiggled them around, tongue lolling and eyes golden.

 

They gathered in the living room, and Spencer sat on the couch next to Jon while his father and Zack hashed out the details.  They talked about school, expectations, and guardianship. About what Zack’s life had been like in Chicago, how he and Jon were getting on out here, and what his beliefs were on discipline. Spencer made a face at his father and was politely ignored.  It was a long, long while before anyone asked him to say anything.

 

“You think this is the right decision?” his dad asked.  “You’re old enough to make choices, Spencer, but you need to think this through.  If you trust these guys, I’ll trust your judgment here, but I need this to be a mature decision.”

 

Spencer thought about it. Sat back and really hashed it out again.  He’d made the decision, initially, on a flash judgment, but circumstances kept piling up that reinforced his rash decision, and honestly Spencer couldn’t think of a more rational choice.  He’d gone through this a million times over in his head. This was his choice. This was the thing to do. He glanced at Zack, then looked his dad in the eyes and said, “I’m sure.”

 

To say things changed in the days following Zack and Jon’s visit wouldn’t be the most profound statement.  Things were changing constantly, a whirlwind of activity as the move approached and Spencer’s secrets settled like old dust on the lip of a grandfather clock.  Slowly, and almost unnoticeable until you looked closely at it and saw the quantity that was actually there.

 

So everyone was busy, everyone was moving around and getting their affairs in order, and Spencer was finally dedicating real time to packing, now that he knew he had somewhere to go.  His sisters spied on him, asking him questions until their mother snapped at them to leave him alone already, it was none of their business, and they didn’t need to know about such things.  Spencer asked her about it and got his head bitten off. His father said to give her space, let her adjust. He wasn’t so sure, but he tried not to let it hurt his feelings.

 

Spencer figured there was plenty of space between here and Indiana.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Brendon remembered loving family get-togethers. All of the aunts would make food and all of his cousins would come over to play, and if he bugged his Uncle Jacob enough, he’d pick Brendon up and toss him around. He and his cousins loved that game, getting tossed around and flying, giggling until their stomachs hurt. Family get-togethers used to be Brendon’s favorite days.

 

Now though, Brendon was too big to fly anymore.  The girls disappeared upstairs, and Brendon was abandoned in the living room with the men.  He had two cousins his age, one who was a varsity linebacker as a freshman and almost as big as Zack, which was terrifying, and Mark, the one who wanted to save Brendon’s soul. It wasn’t like they could run around and play hide and seek anymore (well, they could. Brendon wouldn’t entirely object). They could put down a board game and kill a few hours, but board games sucked, and Mark was an ironically infamous cheater at anything with cards or dice.

 

Besides the linebacker, Chet, would rather sit in the living room with the others and talk about the excitement of ESPN.  There was no room for false idols in Brendon’s home, but parts of the extended family had gotten sucked into the glamour of generic American living.  Chet talked about athletic scholarships instead of mission assignments; Uncle Jacob drove a Land Rover. Brendon sat there bored and tried not to fidget.

 

Brendon had been spacing out, staring at his cousin Mark and wondering how his braces had possibly made his overbite _worse_ instead of _better_ when Mark let out a lofty sigh, rolled his eyes for all the world, and turned to glare at Brendon.  “Would you _knock it off?”_ he snapped. “Why don’t you go upstairs with the other girls?” He pulled a lip back and sneered, and Brendon fantasized about punching him in the teeth.

 

He opened his mouth to respond, but before the first syllable came to light, cheers of “TOUCHDOWN!” erupted as half the room’s occupants leapt to their feet and screamed.  Chet’s sandwich sprayed lettuce everywhere as he jumped around, and it rained down on Brendon like confetti. Brendon slouched in his seat and continued glaring at his cousin.  Mark glared back.

 

Uncle Jacob rounded the room, fetching another glass of lemonade from the kitchen and stopping behind the couch.  He dropped a heavy hand on Brendon’s shoulder, squeezed, and asked “Is everything okay here, boys?” Brendon averted his gaze from Mark, who immediately painted himself innocent.

 

“Of course,” he lied, and Brendon clenched his fists.  If Brendon hated anyone, actually hated them, it just might be Mark.  Really, he’d rather wrestle with Chet than hold a conversation with the guy. “I don’t have any problems, but Brendon here seems to be upset with me.” He frowned.  Uncle Jacob tightened his grip.

 

“Brendon?”

 

He’d punch him right in the teeth, knock his jaw into proper alignment and do him some favors.  “There’s nothing wrong. We’re just talking,” he answered, because what else was he supposed to say?  That Mark was picking on him? They’d just tell him to toughen up. It was best not to draw any attention at all.

 

“Take a chill pill, kid.” Jacob clapped him on the shoulder and shook him a little in a way that was supposed to be friendly or something. Brendon bit his tongue.

 

“Yes sir.”

 

“Good boy.” Brendon’s hair was ruffled, and he busied himself with picking lettuce off his jeans while the room settled down again. Mark was smirking at him again, and Brendon put serious amounts of focus into keeping his fists un-clenched.  

 

During a commercial break, Uncle Al set his newspaper down and called attention to an article he’d been studying during the game.  Uncle Al didn’t like football, but he loved arguing. He’d talk at a glass of water till it turned to vinegar, Brendon’s father used to say.  Brendon felt his stomach sour as Uncle Al declared, “Look at this!” scoffing and jabbing the paper with his sausage finger. It was a big city newspaper from Denver, and the front page was a story about some kind of ruckus in New York City.  Brendon glanced over to see what he was upset about, and his mouth went dry when he saw the word 'werewolf.'

 

“Can you believe this?” he said to the room, angry.  Several of the guys were crowding around him to look, but Brendon didn’t move. “What do you think of this, boys?  Hell in a handbasket if you ask me, just like the Good Book predicted.”

 

“Wolf parades.  Fag parades. Does everyone need a parade these days?”

 

“It’s not important if there hasn’t been a riot about it, you know that.”

 

“Can’t believe they’re letting those people get married,” Brendon’s chimed in, eyes flitting to Brendon very deliberately before glancing away. “It’s sick. This country has no morals anymore.”

 

“And when we thought it couldn’t get worse-” Uncle Al jabbed at the paper again. “-these freaks, these… these _devils_ are walking the streets of New York City sprouting ears and tails and throwing their sick condition in everyone’s faces.  They’ve started organizing public get-togethers, where they all strip naked in the park and run around under the moon. Like a pagan ritual.”

 

“Disgusting,” Mr. Urie agreed.  Brendon’s jaw was starting to ache from the tension he was holding in it.  Mark glanced over at him with another sneer, and Brendon felt his stomach turn over and his palms start to sweat.  The sneer meant nothing, he told himself. Mark couldn’t possibly know. Nobody knew.

 

“All I know,” Uncle Al said, shaking his finger, “Is that if one of those sick bastards showed their head around here, they’d get a bullet right between the eyes.” He pointed on his own forehead. “Just the way an animal deserves.”  Mark was laughing. Brendon couldn’t breathe.

 

“And we’d hang their freaky head right above my fireplace.”  Uncle Al spread his hands up and smiled, and then Brendon was on his feet, practically running out of the room.

 

“Brendon!” his dad’s voice barked. “What are you doing?”

 

“He sure is sensitive,” Mark said. “Should have named him Brenda.”

 

The words “Lay off it,” followed the sound of someone getting a hearty thwack to the back of the head.  Brendon rushed off, darting down the hallway in search of some privacy. He found it in the laundry room.  There it was still and quiet, the noise from the house muted through thin walls and the air smelling thickly of soap and the garden right outside the window.  He sat up on the washing machine, lounging back against the wall with a sigh.

 

Brendon knew it was wrong to hate people, that it was a sin, but sometimes he thought he might actually hate his family.

 

That realization sat heavy in his chest during his sparse minutes of silence.  It was too good to last, though, and moments later there was a quiet knock on the laundry room door.  “Brendon?” Uncle Al’s voice asked through the door. Brendon sat up straighter and pulled his knees to him.

 

“What are you doing in here, boy?” Uncle Al asked, walking into the laundry room. He tapped the back of his hand against Brendon’s knee, and Brendon sighed and turned, letting his legs dangle off the washing machine.

 

“What do you want?” Brendon grumbled, crossing his arms.  Uncle Al raised an eyebrow.

 

“Is that the way you speak to grown ups now?” he asked. Brendon dropped his gaze to his knee where the denim was starting to thin after being handed down four times.  He shook his head reluctantly.

 

“No sir, sorry,” he mumbled.

 

“You know,” Uncle Al heaved himself up onto the dryer next to Brendon, like he was trying to be cool or something. Brendon resisted the temptation to scoot away until he was pressed against the wall and as far away from his uncle as he could manage. “One of these days you’re going to have to start acting like a man.  There’s things you’ve got to do in this world, live a good life and raise a family, and you have to face it all with a clear head and a firm resolve.”

 

Brendon nodded, wondered if he’d actually ever make it there.  A family, whether it be the one he was supposed to have with a wife and children, or one of his own design with… well, with whoever Brendon could trick into loving him.  He couldn’t imagine it, couldn’t paint any kind of picture in his head.

 

He couldn’t imagine growing up and being happy.

 

“You’re not a little boy anymore. You keep being dramatic, it’s going to hurt your reputation,” Uncle Al said. Brendon wanted to roll his eyes but didn’t. “People are going to start talking.  You get what I’m saying, right?”

 

Brendon swallowed hard. “Yes sir.”

 

Uncle Al squeezed Brendon’s knee again.  He said, “Take a deep breath and get that look off your face.  Don’t you go around crying like some kind of girl.”

 

He nodded again.  Uncle Al sighed.

 

“You just have to put in an effort,” he said, “And no more funny business with you and your cousin.  It’d do you good to learn to stand up for yourself.”

 

Brendon didn’t know how to follow all of these lessons at the same time, but it wasn’t his job to understand.  It was just his job to obey. He nodded again, willing to say anything for renewed silence.

 

He waited until his uncle had left the room before dropping his head onto his knees and squeezing his eyes tight against a headache.  This was going to be a long day, but there was nothing to do but suffer through it. He hopped down from his perch and decided to join his mom and aunts in the kitchen.  

 

It was a short-lived trip.  He was banished upstairs quickly after he’d gotten caught trying to steal food out of a pan and was chased away with a dish towel.  He knew it would be safe upstairs, at least, now that he’d literally been told to go there. Kara never kicked him out of the room during these things.

 

He knocked, and she pulled him inside. He sat around with the girls while they talked about boys at school and tried to get Brendon to let them paint his nails.  Brendon refused, not that he would mind too much, not like he wanted his nails painted sparkly blue or whatever, but he wouldn’t really mind either. He probably would have let them have their fun if it weren’t for what his father would say if he saw.  That, yeah. That he didn’t want to deal with.

 

Uncle Al’s words stuck with him though. If men stood up for themselves… If Brendon was supposed to stand up for himself… Well, maybe next time he would.  Maybe, just maybe, Brendon could stand his ground.

 

* * *

 

 

It was a relief to get away from his family after dinner, so much so that he ran the entire way to Zack and Jon’s place.  He’d played it right, asking his mother while she was in a good mood if he could get out of the house to spend the night at Spencer’s.  She had a bit of a soft spot for Spencer, and she agreed so long as Spencer’s parents were home. Mom said yes before his father got the chance to argue, and after one of his aunts remarked how _nice_ it was that Brendon was making friends his father didn’t have much room to argue.

 

Brendon figured he wasn’t technically lying to his parents. He _was_ spending the night at Spencer’s house.  His parents may not have known about Spencer’s current situation, but that wasn’t Brendon’s fault.  Besides, Zack was going to be there the whole time, and he was an actual grown up. They wouldn’t get up to anything unsafe or inappropriate.  They might get up to things his parents didn’t approve of, but what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

 

There were several serious rules Brendon was breaking that evening.  He was a werewolf, which was a crime all of its own. He was lying about where he was going, and he’d been hanging around with people who were both older and whom his parents had never met.  He would be hanging out in the woods all night, and he’d probably commit several other heinous crimes such as swearing or laughing at dirty jokes or drinking caffeine.

 

When Brendon’s cousins would spend the night, they’d be expected to be silent and asleep by ten in the evening.  There was no way his parent’s would ever understand or approve of his evening plans.

 

But it was unavoidable.  If Brendon didn’t go out, he’d just have to chain himself up in his bedroom and barricade the door.  Zack had sat him down and explained the situation, about changes he could expect and adjustments he’d have to make, and he’d been absolutely adamant- the full moon was not an event to be missed.  Brendon didn’t know what happened if he did miss it, but he could imagine. He’d sat through a number of lectures at school about nighttime safety and fullmoon safety and knowing the warning signs for werewolf activity.

 

It was a relief of the greatest proportions that Brendon barely matched any of the warning signs they’d been taught to look out for.  So long as he followed Zack’s instructions and kept his temper in check, Brendon was certain he could get away with this. Maybe not forever, but long enough.  He couldn’t do that if he stayed home for the full moon, though. Barricaded door or not, his father would find a way in, and Brendon would be dead by sunrise.

 

But despite those anxieties and the risks and the horrible start to his day, out in the woods, Brendon proceeded to have the best night of his entire life.

 

There had been a few times where he’d changed in his sleep and awoken in absolute panic in the morning.  He’d started sleeping with the desk chair in front of his door. He’d also practiced once at Zack and Jon’s house.  Really, Brendon had to be honest, being under the light of the full moon was so much better than any of that.

 

The air was crisp and clear on the cusp of spring, ground still frozen but snow beginning to melt.  He could hear every sound and smell every smell and he felt more free than ever before. Brendon loved how his body felt like this, how the moon replaced the aching in his bones and left him _singing_ .  He was _fast_ and _strong_.  He felt unstoppable.

 

Brendon leapt on top of Jon and bit his ear, tugging.  Jon yelped and pounced on him, pinning him down, and they rolled around in the dirt nipping at each other.  Jon was a whole lot bigger in this form than Brendon was, since Jon had been a werewolf since he was born and Brendon was just a puppy.  Spencer was a bit bigger than Brendon but not by much, and Zack, well… Zack in wolf form could have swallowed Brendon whole. Brendon didn’t wrestle with Zack.

 

Jon had him pinned down and was nuzzling at Brendon’s throat, and Brendon found himself rendered incapacitated.  He wasn’t scared, though. He was pretty sure at this point that Jon wouldn’t hurt him.

 

Spencer might, on accident.  He ran at them and hit them full force, knocking them into the mud and sending everyone sprawling.  Brendon scrambled back to his feet and pounced at Spencer, but then strong teeth clamped onto the scruff of Brendon’s neck and dragged him off, and Brendon waited for Zack to set him down again before biting Zack's ear and bounding away.

 

The moonset was nearly as perfect as the moonrise.  Brendon barely had his pants buttoned before he was bounding around their clearance in celebration.  “That was amazing!” he cheered. “That was the most fun _ever_!”

 

Jon laughed.  He chucked Brendon’s t-shirt at him, and it hit Brendon in the face.  He stumbled back into a grumpy Spencer, who growled. Didn’t matter. Brendon was elated.

 

Spencer was obviously tired, yawning and tugging at the hood of his sweatshirt in confusion, because it was in the front instead of the back, and he somehow had trouble understanding why.

 

The whole walk home, Jon poked and prodded at Spencer, darting away and snickering every time Spencer took a swipe at him.  Eventually Zack reached the end of his patience. He picked Jon up by the back of his jacket and dropped him down on the sidewalk at the head of the pack, telling him to lead the way and behave himself.

 

Brendon took up the mantle of picking on Spencer, undeterred by growling and glaring and occasional stern looks from Zack.  Stepping on the backs of Spencer’s shoes was the final straw- Spencer whirled on him, and Brendon was startled for a split second before Spencer grabbed him and tossed him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.  Brendon clung on to the back of his hoodie and resigned himself to this fate.

 

“Stop that,” Zack responded, and Brendon found himself back on his feet rather quickly.  He had a feeling that manhandling was just part of being a werewolf, and he couldn’t say he minded too much.  “Don’t go drawing any attention. This is a bad morning to be caught prowling around.”

 

Brendon didn’t ask what he meant by that; he didn’t need to.  Instead he snuck up on Zack, ducked around his arm, and gave him a cheesy grin.  Zack shook his head, but Brendon could have sworn he saw him smiling too.

 

* * *

 

“I told you I wasn’t leaving.”

 

Ryan squinted up at Spencer through the mid-afternoon sun.  He frowned, chewed on a frayed thumbnail, and ducked his head to look at his shoes.  “You going to be okay?” he asked.

 

Spencer wasn’t so sure.  “I’ll be fine,” he said, because what option did he have anyways?  He had to be okay when all of this was his own idea anyways.

 

“Are you going to miss them?”

 

Spencer hated to say it, but he wasn’t so sure about that either.  

 

“Of course,”  he lied and hoped it would be some sort of self-fulfilling prophecy.

 

“I can’t believe your mom would agree to this,” Ryan said.  Spencer huffed out a laugh and plopped down on the steps next to him.  The old wood creaked under his weight.

 

 _I can_ , he thought.  His mother hadn’t really spoken to him since the initial conversation, choosing to keep a cautious distance and clipping all of their conversations short.  His father had continued his curiosity. He asked how strong Spencer _actually_ was, and Spencer only realized after lugging a dozen boxes down the stairs that it had been a trick for free labor.  His father made jokes about how Spencer ought to be working out to see what he was truly capable of. His mother made a remark about how he ought to leave well enough alone.

 

That night at dinner he’d mentioned Spencer ‘working up an appetite,’ and challenged him to a pizza eating contest.  He must not have known what he was getting himself into because his father spent eighty dollars on pizza, and it was one of the only times Spencer felt totally full since the werewolf debacle began.

 

The next day, Spencer’s dad had hugged him tight when they were about to leave. Spencer hugged back just as tight, but not tight enough to hurt him.  “I’ll keep in touch,” he said.

 

His dad mussed up his hair and said, “Yeah, you’d better.” Spencer didn’t even pretend to act annoyed.

 

His sisters hugged him too, at the same time, trying to squeeze the life out of him like they always did.  Spencer just laughed and hugged them gently, picking them up and making them giggle. There had been a time when his mother would have hugged him hard enough to suffocate him, but when it was her turn she approached him slowly.  She gave him a smile and reached up like she was going to touch the side of his face, but as she approached, she hesitated and dropped her hand with a tight lipped smile.

 

“We’ll miss you,” she said, and Spencer was sure his heart was breaking.

 

He swallowed his pride and forced a smile. “I’ll miss you too.” He had to do something- had to say something to convince himself and them that this wasn’t breaking him into a million pieces.  He said, “I’ll be fine here with my pack, I promise,” and pretended not to notice the way the creases that tightened in the corners of her eyes after she flinched.

 

“Of course.”  She folded her hands and took a step back.  Spencer took that as a sign that she wasn’t going to offer him a hug, so he just kept smiling.  Eventually, after they had all gotten in the car and left, the moving van trailing behind them, he sat next to Ryan on the porch and kept acting like it didn’t bother him.  

 

Spencer decided that sometimes things hurt, and maybe you wondered why, but mostly you tried not to think about it.

 

* * *

 

 

Brendon couldn’t remember what the argument had been about, but he honestly should have known better.  His father had never taken well to back-talk, not since the day Brendon was born. Just because Brendon was exhausted and sore from a night running around in the woods didn’t mean he could _forget_ , and he accepted the reasoning that this was all his fault from the get go.  He knew the consequences, and he’d been an idiot anyways.

 

Still.  This was the first black eye he’d ever gotten.  It had just been spankings when he was little, that and the occasional slap to the face.  A lot of soap in the mouth. But it had changed lately, and Brendon wasn’t sure if it was because he was getting older or because he was harder to deal with.  There had been a time or two their father had lost his temper when they were little, the time he shoved Matthew into a corner so hard he cracked his head on the doorframe and had to go to the emergency room for stitches.

 

But those times had been few and far inbetween.  The black eye was new. Brendon was certain that he was the first.  The first to get a black eye, and the first to miss school because of a punishment.  He was sick a “stomach flu” until the swelling went down. Bruises could be covered, yeah, but the softball on his face was pretty damning.

 

That of course sparked an argument between his mom and dad.  His mother had yelled furiously at his father the night it happened ( _“how dare you…!”_ ) while sitting Brendon down in the living room and pressing a bag of frozen peas to his eye, which was swollen shut.  Kara sat next to him on the couch and quietly repeated their mother’s sentiment of _‘how dare he,’_ adding in a _‘he didn’t mean to’_ for good measure.  

 

That was a total lie, but Brendon appreciated the sentiment.  Valerie hadn’t stuck around to catch the aftermath, which was fair.  Brendon would have gone off and hidden too if he could get away with it.

 

His parents locked themselves in the kitchen to argue, as if the drywall would mute their conversation any.  It didn’t. Even a regular human would have been able to hear every word. Kara wrapped her arm around his shoulders and squeezed him tighter with every passing moment.

 

His father actually apologized eventually.  Or, perhaps it wasn’t exactly an apology, but the words, “I’ll restrain myself in the future,” were as close as they were ever going to get. He also said that Brendon would be staying church  from school the next day. He couldn’t go in with a black eye. People would notice, and they’d start asking questions, and Brendon understood that this mess was his fault already. He didn’t need to bring other people into it and make it bigger.  

But Sunday became Monday, and he was still home.  He wondered how much ice it would take to get out of this house.  Brendon had apologized for starting the argument, not saying he’d restrain himself, but saying he was sorry and would fix his behavior, immediately.  That night’s family devotion was about forgiveness.

 

So Brendon spent Monday haunting around the house.  He’d gotten up early with everyone else, sitting on the couch and smirking as his sisters headed out the door.  He wasn’t allowed to watch TV, so he spent most of his time upstairs instead, reading. He practiced piano for a while, but after going through his entire repertoire twice by eleven a.m., Brendon decided on a nap.

 

He woke up feeling disoriented, not just because it was one-thirty in the afternoon, but because the house was silent.  The house was never silent, or at least Brendon was never home during the times that it was. He sat up and rubbed his eyes and then winced, having forgotten.  A trip to the bathroom mirror revealed far less swelling but far darker bruises. He made faces at himself in the mirror and poked at the bruise until a shuffling noise downstairs caught his attention and he decided to investigate.

 

The fifth step down squeaked.  He and his siblings usually made a habit of stepping over that one.  He was tired and forgot, though, so he froze when his foot touched on the obnoxiously noisy space.  His mother’s voice called out to him, asking him to come into the family room.

 

Brendon continued down the steps quickly, contemplating the silence surrounding him.  He didn’t smell funeral potatoes or a pie cooking, so nothing too disastrous could have happened.  When bad things happened, his mother started cooking. Considering this, everything should have been safe.

 

In the family room, his parents were sitting side by side on the loveseat, once again a united front apparently.  His father motioned for him to sit across from them on the sofa, so he sat.

 

It turned out to be the ‘I’m worried about you’ talk, which Brendon just about had memorized at this point.  He’d heard the speech a lot, lately. ‘ _I’m worried that you might be getting influenced by worldly sources, Brendon.’  ‘That kind of thinking can be dangerous, Brendon.’ ‘It is your duty as a young person to be a guardian of virtue, Brendon,_ ’ and ‘ _You need to keep the true path in mind, Brendon.’_

 

 _‘You need to bridle your passions, Brendon.’_  That one was their way of saying not to have _any_ passions and to stop being so ‘colorful.’  He’d overheard that word in a conversation between his aunts and his mother.  She was concerned. His aunts were concerned. Everyone, it seemed, was concerned.

 

Through this particular ‘I’m worried about you’ talk, Brendon learned that his parents knew he’d been skipping seminary.  It took them two weeks to find out, which was centuries compared to their usual detective work. He’d been committing some serious sins- skipping seminary before school, _and_ youth group after school, _and_ ward activities on Friday’s.  He’d used the time to sneak away to Spencer’s, which was a lot more fun that Church sanctioned events could ever hope to be.

 

Of course he had to tell them that, which is when they frowned very seriously at him and just got more concerned.  His mother, at one point, took Brendon’s hand in hers and asked if Spencer was his (there was an awkward pause as she choked on the word) boyfriend.  Brendon had to work very hard to keep the look off his face. Spencer? Really? No thank you.

 

He assured them that no, he wasn’t, but they hardly looked like they believed him.

 

“Just as well,” his mother said, “His family has moved away.”

 

His father nodded.  “You won’t have anymore distractions.  You can get your behavior back in check.”

 

“Things will be better again.”  His mom took his hand again as she said it, and Brendon wondered why her hands were shaking, why her eyes were watering, and why he didn’t believe her.

 

Brendon wondered why this all felt like it was his own fault.  Why he even bothered trying.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

**April**

Spencer was fine.  Really. Things weren’t bad, they were just different.  He missed his family, and he missed Haley, and he wasn’t used to everything yet.  The house was nice, though. It was a cozy two story in town, squeezed between a Victorian to their left and a tiny cottage with a tinier grandmother residing to their right.  Their backyard opened into woods, which stretched for an acre or two before opening into someone else’s backyard on the other side. There was a 7-Eleven right across the street, and it was a much shorter walk to school. It had three bedrooms, and they let Spencer have one.

 

Jon and Spencer’s rooms were upstairs across a short hallway, and Zack’s was downstairs tucked away behind the kitchen.  Spencer tried to make his room look the same as his one at home, with his bed made and his belongings tidy and his posters straight.  It was nice to have the familiarity.

 

It was also nice to sleep without the doors and windows locked.  He no longer had to worry about waking up all out-of-sorts and in the wrong body, since nobody would be barging in on him, and even if they did, it wouldn’t be a terrible surprise.  He didn’t have to worry about eating too much either, not when living with two appetites as monstrous as his own. It was comfortable, being there, but Spencer couldn’t help feeling kind of sad.

 

His father called every few days to check up on him, often demanding at some point that Spencer hand the phone over to Zack.  Spencer started avoiding the calls after a week or two, instead shooting off texts and pretending to be busy. He felt terribly guilty about that, as well, because he missed his dad and he’d promised he’d keep in touch, but it turned out that keeping in touch was a little too painful.

 

It was almost ten o’clock on a Friday night nearly a month after his parents had left. Spencer was bored, bumming around not really doing his chemistry homework so much as drawing pictures of astronaut frogs in the margins, and then he just… thought about it. He was never really bored on Friday nights, because on Fridays his dad would rent a movie on the way home from work and they would all sit around and watch it as a family.

 

It had seemed so lame before, but now it had been a month, three Fridays, and Spencer hadn't even thought about it.

 

Unable to stand his own company anymore and bored with his frogs, Spencer got up and paced for a moment.  He sighed, counted his losses, and wandered off to see if anyone else was awake.

 

Jon was sitting on the couch, staring heavy-lidded at his cellphone.  His heart rate was slow, and his breathing shallow and even, so he must have been barely awake.  Spencer considered not bothering him for a moment, but before he could even think about stepping out of the doorway and slinking back upstairs, Jon noticed him.

 

“Hey Spence,” he said without looking up from his phone.  He patted the couch next to him, and Spencer was pretty well trapped now.  He shuffled into the room and collapsed onto the couch. Jon hummed, “What’s wrong?”

 

Spencer settled his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes. "I'm fine.”

 

“You’re sad,” Jon replied.  Spencer felt the shift of the couch, felt a knee bump into his own and warm hands nudging him forwards until Jon’s arm slipped around his shoulders.  Spencer sighed again. “Homesick?”

 

He wondered how Jon could possibly know that.  He nodded. "It’s stupid.”

 

“Moving away is hard.  You want to talk about it?”

 

Spencer tried to shift closer without Jon noticing, because Jon was soft and warm and sturdy and Spencer appreciated all of those things just then.  He didn’t need Jon to know that, though. He hummed, shaking his head and shooting down the conversation. Not a chance. He doubted he could even arrange his thoughts into sentences.

 

“How about a movie?” Jon offered instead.  Spencer shrugged. That’s kind of what he’d been looking for to begin with.

 

He felt Jon reach around him, heard him pick up the remote and flick the TV on.  The TV remote smelled uniquely like hands and sweat, and it made Spencer itch for a clorox wipe. “A classic,” Jon said, and Spencer peeked an eye open to see one of those dumb teenage werewolf movies from the nineties.  He’d thought they were dumb before, and now he thought they were a little bit insulting, but Jon loved them. Spencer settled in for the movie and closed his eyes, listening to the sounds from the TV and the tapping of Jon’s fingers against his cellphone.

 

Spencer woke up a few hours later to find Zack covering them with a blanket. They'd fallen over, and was crushed between Jon and the back of the couch.  Jon was half hanging off the couch, and he had one arm locked around Spencer’s neck in a death grip, Spencer’s head tucked into the crook of his shoulder.  He tried to sit up and found himself stuck. Zack pushed him back down with a finger in the middle of his forehead and said, “It’s okay. Sleep.”

 

It was too much effort to detach from Jon and get himself all the way upstairs, he reasoned.  He blinked, and Zack was gone from the room. Jon mumbled something in his sleep. Spencer yawned and gave up, closing his eyes again and immediately drifting back off.

 

* * *

 

 

Ryan looked exhausted the next time Spencer saw him, with dark circles under his eyes standing out against his pale skin. The circles were purple and black and red, like someone who hadn’t been sleeping enough.  Ryan rarely ever slept enough, but the slump of his shoulders was particularly disturbing, and usually they faced these problems in a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ manner, but it had been a while, and Spencer couldn’t help himself.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

They had walked to the park and were sitting on the swings.  Spencer forced his eyes away from the slide and totally didn’t think about it.  Or at least, he tried not to. Ryan stopped swinging when Spencer spoke and glanced at the other boy with cautious eyes.

 

“Why do you care?” he asked after a while.  Ryan had this creepy way of keeping eye contact while he accused people of things.  He didn’t fidget or give away nerves, just got unnervingly still and stared owlishly into Spencer’s soul.  “It’s not like you’ve been around to notice.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Spencer said. “I’ve been busy.”

 

He hadn’t, actually.  Not anymore than he ever had been, but it was easier to keep an eye on Ryan when they lived next door rather than across town from each other.  They still went to school with each other, yeah, but Ryan’s schedule had been switched to remedial and they didn’t have the same lunch period anymore.  Spencer being a senior, and Ryan an eighth grader in the lower half of the high school, they hardly ever saw each other during the day. None of it was on purpose, it was just sort of happening on its own accord.

 

“Yeah well.”  Ryan started swinging again and not looking at Spencer. “I have plenty of things to keep me busy.”

 

Spencer nodded.  He kicked absentmindedly at the wood chips under his feet.  “Sorry.”

 

Ryan didn’t respond to that.  He kept swinging for a while, and then he said, “I’m as okay as ever, but… worse, somehow. I’m not. But things are.”

 

Spencer watched him carefully, but Ryan wouldn’t stop swinging enough to look at him.

 

“It’s nothing that I can’t handle,” he added. “Just a lot that I don’t want to, I guess.” He let his worn down tennis shoes drag through the dirt until he wasn’t swinging anymore.  Then he twisted the swing chains, and Spencer watched him spin.

 

“Do you think… maybe once in awhile... I could stay over at wherever you’re staying now?” Ryan asked, not looking at Spencer.  He kept eye contact when he was being rude but never looked at Spencer when he asked for something. Spencer wondered if it meant something.

 

“I… I don’t think Zack would be okay with that, Ry.”  Spencer felt disgusted with himself even as he said it, but to be fair, he wasn’t really sure if Zack would be okay with that.  Zack probably would though, since he didn’t object to practically adopting Spencer and opening the door to Brendon whenever he turned up.  Then again, Spencer and Brendon were werewolves; Ryan was a human.

 

Spencer didn’t want him finding out about the wolf thing. It wasn’t really a secret to go around whispering to people.  Spencer was _Ryan’s_ rock, and Ryan had enough problems without learning about the huge mess Spencer’s life had turned into.

 

The secret wouldn’t be safe long if Ryan came over, if not because of the obvious clues that littered their entire living space, or because of how stupidly obvious their strange situation was, then because of the neon signs Zack and Jon seemed to wear over their heads that just screamed ‘werewolf!’

 

Spencer could only tell Ryan was disappointed by the way his eyes jerked to the side for a moment before looking back down again.  Ryan was really subtle about emotions, but Spencer had practice. Seeing that Ryan was upset only made him feel guiltier, but he was protecting him, really.  He’d let Brendon get too close to the whole werewolf situation and look what had happened. If Spencer hurt Ryan, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

 

“That’s fine,” Ryan said quickly. “Don’t want you to get in trouble or anything. It’s fine.”

 

“You’re sure?” Spencer asked, and it was a stupid question, since Spencer was the one who told him no in the first place.

 

“Yeah.” Ryan stood up. “Yeah, it’s cool Spence. I should head home.  Guy on the news said not to risk being out after dark, so….”

 

“Okay… Want me to walk you?”

 

“It’s fine. I’ll see you around.”  Ryan shoved his hands in his pockets and set off down the road, and Spencer frowned after him for a moment.  After a while, he stood up and headed in the other direction into town. It was for Ryan’s own good, really. He didn’t want to hurt him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was cold outside, but not as cold as it could have been.  The sun was peeking out and melting the ice, turning it into slush, and Brendon enjoyed kicking a chunk of it as he walked down the sidewalk.  Valerie scolded him, telling him not to stop making a mess. Brendon, in retaliation, had stuck his tongue out, which earned him the ‘very disappointed’ frown.  It didn’t have the same effect coming from his sister instead of their parents, and he and Kara rolled their eyes and made faces behind her back the rest of the walk there.

They’d gotten a ride into town with Mason, who was on his way anyways.  They were allowed to ride the bus back home, too, so long as they didn’t talk to anyone strange and were careful about it.  Brendon knew that was dad-talk for ‘ _don’t talk to any heathens and don’t leave Brendon behind anywhere._ ’  That’s what those instructions had always meant in the past.

It would have been more convenient for Valerie to drive them there and back, since she had her license and all.  She was only allowed to use it with expressed permission, though, and their mom had already taken the van for work.  That left them with a short walk and a bus ride home, but that was all right. It kept them out of the house longer.

 

They were out because Valerie needed new clothes for something or other, and the Goodwill wasn’t a far walk from their drop off point.  It was where they usually shopped for this kind of thing, because it was the only place where a person could buy five pairs of jeans for twenty dollars.  That kind of deal mattered in a family of eight.

 

Brendon wrinkled his nose up when they stepped inside.  Goodwill had never smelled particularly pleasant, but wolf senses made it much more intense.  He was picking up on a whole ton of different scents from every direction, and he had to rub his nose and pretend to cough to cover up a gag.  Old shoes, moth balls, cat piss, and twenty flavors of body odor.

 

“I really need new jeans,” Kara decided, setting off in that direction.  “I had some really cute ones, but Mom threw them out.”

 

“They were indecent,” Valerie responded, picking up a long skirt and holding it up to her hips.  She hummed indifferently at it before hanging it back up. “You can’t go wearing clothes that tight. You know better.”

 

Valerie was looking at a different skirt now, so she didn’t see Kara roll her eyes.  Brendon chuckled quietly under his breath and took a different skirt down from the rack.  He held it up to his hips and swayed.

 

“Am I pretty yet?” he teased, earning a too-loud laugh from Kara and a scowl from Valerie.  

 

“Give me that,” she snapped, yanking the thing away from Brendon and shoving it back on the rack.

 

“Calm down, V, it was a joke,” Kara said, admiring some indecently tight jeans and making a face at their sister.  “You’d laugh if Matthew did it.”

 

“Yeah, because Matt is normal,” Valerie responded.  She didn’t even look guilty. Kara shot her an offended look, but Brendon just shrugged, picking up a different skirt.  

 

“You might like this one, V,” he said, holding it out to her.  A peace offering. She stared at him steadily before taking it and looking it over.  Kara gave him a lopsided smile and shook her head.

 

* * *

 

 

Their town had just become big enough for a Starbucks three years ago, and it was the first place to accept Jon’s job application when he moved to town.  He still worked there, and he was there currently while Spencer lounged on the couch after school, bored and tired and waiting for him to get home. Spencer’s avatar wasn’t doing so hot as Spencer fumbled at the game controller, barely oriented in the game with his head hanging off the edge of the couch and the screen being viewed upside down.

 

Zack was home and doing something in the kitchen. He worked as a bartender at some really nice place in a larger neighboring town and got paid like a king.  His shift was almost always seven to three, so he slept till early afternoon and was always at the apartment when Spencer got home from school. It was nice.  Zack was cool, and Spencer didn’t feel lonely so long as he knew someone else was buzzing around. At the same time, though, Zack could be a major pain in the ass.

 

“Have you started your homework yet?” he asked from the doorway to the living room. Spencer was trying to kick some ass.  He didn’t have time for homework.

 

“I’ll do it later,” he said. “This is important.”

 

“Your grades are important,” Zack said. “You’ve played this a hundred times, kid.”

 

“I already got into college,” Spencer complained. “Why do I still have to do homework?”

 

Zack walked over and flicked Spencer in the ear, then turned off the xbox. Spencer yelped, rolling and almost falling off the couch.  He braced a hand on the floor and glared up at Zack.

 

“They can kick you out just as quick as they let you in.  You think they want slackers?”

 

“I’m not a slack- oof!” Zack dropped Spencer’s calculus book on his stomach, and Spencer groaned. Four hundred pages of pain.

 

“Damn right. You’re an honors student, somehow.  It blows my mind considering I never see you doing actual homework.”  Zack grumbled at him, and Spencer rolled his eyes, which got him another book dropped on his stomach.  Government this time, just as hefty. Spencer considered conceding, getting to work on the math at least, when his phone chimed and caught his attention.  He shoved the books over on the couch and sat up to read a text from Jon.

 

**just got off work. starving. pizza?**

 

Spencer beamed, “Jon’s shift just ended. I gotta go meet him.”  He hopped over the back of the couch and stopped in the kitchen to drop his books on the table before heading for the door.

 

“Spencer Smith! If you fail the twelfth grade I will kick your ass!”

 

“I give you every right,” Spencer said, tugging his shoes on. “I’ll do it later, I promise.”

 

“You’d better.”

 

“I will.”

 

“Before I get off work, too.  If you’re still at it at dawn there will be ass kicking!”

 

“As will be deserved,” Spencer replied, finally getting his shoes on and practically throwing himself out the front door. “Bye!”

 

“Fucking puppy…” Spencer heard Zack mutter after he left, and he smiled.  Zack loved him.

 

* * *

 

 

“What the hell did you do to Zack?” Jon asked as soon as Spencer sat down at their usual booth.  There were already two slices of pizza and a can of coke on the table, as always. He took a bite.

 

“I didn’t do anything to Zack.”

 

“He just texted me that you’re the reason his hair is thinning.” Jon held up the phone to show Spencer, and he sounded serious, but he was grinning so Spencer wasn’t concerned.

 

“Something about homework,” Spencer said, picking up the can of coke, but Jon snatched it out of his hand and took a sip first.  Spencer glared at him.

 

“You need to do your homework,” Jon said, holding the coke way above his head when Spencer reached for it. “Fucking teenagers.  What’s the matter with you?”

 

“I’m going to do it.” Spencer rolled his eyes. “3.9 GPA remember?  I know what I’m doing.”

 

“Zack’s just trying to keep you out of trouble.”

 

“Zack’s just _grumpy,_ ” Spencer countered. He really liked Zack though.  Zack was nice. He kept food in the fridge, he demanded less chore’s than Spencer’s mother had, and he was letting Spencer live in his house rent free.  Maybe Spencer should stop pushing his buttons regardless of whether or not Zack would hold it against him.

 

“You two are going to drive each other crazy,” Jon said, kicking him under the table.  Spencer stole the can of coke away from him and laughed.

 

* * *

 

 

“Where the hell is he!?” Spencer demanded, kicking a tree. “He’s going to be late!”

 

“If he doesn’t turn up, we’ll still hear about it.  It’ll be all over the news,” Zack replied. “He’d better get here before the sun goes down.”

 

“He’ll be here,” Jon reassured them, calm as always. “Just wait a few minutes.”

 

“Tell that to the moon.”

 

“The moon waits for no one.”

 

They didn’t have to try and convince the moon of anything, luckily.  Brendon came sprinting into the clearing five minutes later, sweaty and panting, tripping over his own feet and nearly falling over as he tried to stop. “I’m here!” he gasped. “I’m here! I’m here! I’m sorry I’m late!”

 

“It’s about time,” Spencer grumbled at him while Brendon busied himself with pulling his sweater over his head.  It took a bit of effort, but when he finally got it off, his hair was sticking up funny and he was looking at Spencer with an injured expression.  Spencer almost felt bad for snapping at him. Almost.

 

“One minute till sun down,” Zack said, cuffing the back of Jon’s neck and shaking him a bit.  Jon grinned. “C’mon, clothes off boys.”

 

Spencer wasn’t as shy as he used to be.  He stripped down to his boxer shorts in plain view and he kept those on until the last minute.  Brendon, on the other hand, wasn’t shy at all. One might think the kid was a natural borne werewolf considering how cuddly he was and how comfortable exposing himself.

 

Spencer was actually trying to avoid looking at anyone as the seconds counted down, but Brendon’s loud belly laughter caught his attention.  His eyes slipped and saw Brendon with his back turned, laughing hysterically at something Jon was doing. Before he could rip his eyes away he saw bruises.  Spencer frowned.

 

“Hey Brendon, are you doing alright?”

 

Brendon’s head snapped up and the laughter dissolved on his tongue.  He stared at Spencer, full on deer in the headlights, with guilt radiating off of him for a long second before slipping back into a smile.  

 

“Yeah, duh Spence, I’m fine. Why?” he laughed too, a short chuckle, but there was something off.  Spencer could smell it.

 

“Why were you late tonight?” Spencer asked.  He tried not to acknowledge that Zack and Jon staring at him.  He’d answer their questions later if he had to.

 

“It’s not a big deal, Spence,” Brendon said with something sad or tired seeping into his expression.

 

“Is there something going on?” Spencer asked, sounding more accusatory than he meant to.  Brendon’s smile, which had been fading away to a guarded, cautious frown, quickly shifted into a stony glare.

 

“Drop it, Spencer,” he said, crossing his arms.

 

“ _Guys._ ” Zack interjected, which was probably good, because Spencer and Brendon were about to be at each other’s throats apparently.  He stared them down for a moment before looking at Brendon more gently. “Brendon, if there’s anything you need to talk about-”

 

“There isn’t,” Brendon cut him off quickly, backing up and leaning against a tree. “Seriously, seriously, seriously, everything is great. Oh look! Sunset! Let’s get to it then, huh?” He didn’t wait for Zack’s ‘okay’ before changing into a wolf and bounding into the woods. The others didn’t have much of an option; they followed him.

 

Afterwards Brendon pretended to be exhausted (“Carry me, Zack, I’m sleep deprived!” Zack laughed and caught Brendon when the kid threw himself into his arms). Spencer could tell that he wasn’t actually that tired, but he decided not to point it out.  If Brendon wanted to keep secrets, then Spencer wasn’t going to push him. Besides, _he_ actually was exhausted.  He didn’t have the energy to argue with Brendon anymore.  He’d bring it up again after they’d all gotten a good night’s sleep.

 

Brendon surprised them all, hours later, by being gone when they woke up.  Zack was worried, and he called someone up to conduct a quick search. Seconds later a total stranger fell quite literally out of thin air and landed on the couch next to Spencer.  Smoke, which had appeared with the man and a startling _pop!_ made Spencer’s nose itch, but before he could even sneeze the guy was taking Spencer’s hand and shaking it rather aggressively, introducing himself as “Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz the Third, Prince of the Fey, you are very pleased to meet me!”

 

Spencer was more than a little shocked, and thankfully, after the weirdo prince whatever guy closed his eyes for a moment and reassured Zack that Brendon had made it home fine, he was asleep in bed, he disappeared in a second cloud of smoke and glitter. Spencer sneezed.

 

Spencer let Peter-Lewis-whatever-the-third’s words reassure him. Brendon was fine, asleep in bed and fine. Spencer had nothing to worry about.

 

* * *

 

 

Spencer made up his mind on a Wednesday, when Ryan cornered him in the senior hallway and called him every bad word Spencer had ever heard, stomped on his foot, and stormed away, leaving the entire hallway gaping at Spencer. Spencer was gaping too, because… what?

 

Then it hit him.  Between the pack and moving and worrying about Brendon and planning for graduation, it had entirely slipped his mind.  It was the last week of April, and that was a big deal. When Ryan was four his mom walked out, and when Ryan was eight he’d shown up on their doorstep with someone else’s vomit on his shirt and tears in his eyes, and since then Ryan and Spencer had spent the night of April 26th together.

 

Every single year, and Spencer had never forgotten.

 

Until now.

 

He and Jon had went out and saw a movie, and he hadn’t even thought about it.

 

Oh my God.

 

“Ryan!” Spencer hollered, shoving his way down the hallway to run after him.

“Ryan! Wait up!”  People were gawking at him again, and a few girls glared at him for being loud, but Spencer didn’t care at the moment.  He was the worst person in the universe.

 

“Ryan! Ryan, God damn it, stop!”  Luckily, Ryan hated running more than he hated Spencer at that moment, and Spencer’s werewolf stamina could have kept him going for miles. He caught Ryan by the currently empty cafeteria and pulled him in for privacy.  Ryan was pissed, yanking at his arm and cussing at Spencer to let him go, which eventually Spencer did. Ryan glowered at him.

 

“ _What?_ ” Ryan hissed.  He could be pretty intimidating when he was angry, especially for a little kid.

 

“I’m sorry,” Spencer said.  Ryan scoffed and tried to storm away again, but Spencer grabbed his wrist. “Ryan. Ryan, come on, just listen.”

 

Ryan glared at him for a moment, then glared down at Spencer’s hold on him.  Spencer immediately dropped his hold, cursing himself as he did so. He drew his hands back to himself even though he knew he hadn’t grabbed him hard enough to hurt.  He was getting a handle on that stuff.

 

“I’m sorry. I forgot. I have a lot going on.”

 

Ryan huffed and rolled his eyes. “Of course.”

 

“Let me explain! Ryan, _please_.” He glanced around nervously, double checking that they were alone. “I can explain what’s going on, but not here. After school, okay? In the woods behind my house.”

 

Ryan crossed his skinny arms and glared Spencer down. “So now you have time for me, huh? Now that you’ve left me alone on the absolute worst fucking day of the year, you think that you can just ‘explain everything’ and it’ll be fine!?”

 

Spencer sighed.  “Please….”

 

Ryan shook his head slowly. “Fine,” he said. “Fine, whatever. Woods behind your house, so you can show me your freaky little secrets, whatever.” The bell rang, and Ryan scowled. “Great. Now I’m late for class. See you around, asshole.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Spencer did not tell Zack what he was planning on doing, because Zack would have killed him where he stood.  He didn’t tell Jon either, because Jon would think it was a bad idea, and when Spencer went ahead and did it, Jon would have told Zack, who would have murdered Spencer anyways.  Regardless of the potential threat to his life, Spencer had made up his mind. He needed to do this.

 

Ryan was family, and he deserved to know the truth.  Maybe this could fix things. Maybe he could let Ryan be part of his life again if he knew.  Hell, maybe Zack would let him in too if things on Ryan’s end got bad enough.

 

There were other bridges to cross first.

 

Ryan was late arriving to the woods, so Spencer busied himself with leaning against a tree and rehearsing what he was going to say.  He was going to tell Ryan he had a secret to tell him. That he needed to show him for it to make sense. He’d tell him not to freak out, please, while he started taking his clothes off, which was going to be awkward.  He’d change over, make sure he approached Ryan really slowly so he wouldn’t get scared and run away. He’d turn back and tell him all about what had happened, why he wasn’t around anymore. He’d explain everything, and it’d be fine again.  Everything would be fine.

 

Ten minutes late, and Spencer started to get a bit nervous.  Fifteen and he was fidgeting as bad as Brendon on a normal day.  By twenty-five he was sitting at the base of the tree and tearing a leaf to shreds, tiny pieces getting ripped into tinier pieces.  He was just about to go home around four o’clock when he heard Ryan rustling through the woods and saw him. Spencer scrambled to his feet and wiped his muddy hands on his jeans.

 

“Almost thought you wouldn’t show,” he said, and he was about to start in on his speech like he practiced when something about Ryan caught his attention.  Spencer stopped, looked him over more closely.

 

“Ryan? What’s wrong?”

 

Ryan hung back, leaning against a tree.  He rubbed his nose on his wrist and it came away with a smear of blood.  He winced.

 

“What the hell happened?” Spencer marched over and inspected him as closely as Ryan would allow, not going so far as to touch him.

 

Ryan sniffled and wiped more snot on his hand, grimacing as he did so.  “Don’t worry about it.”

 

“Did something happen with your dad?” Spencer asked.

 

“He slipped,” Ryan answered.  “He’s drunk. I tried to catch him, it’s not a big deal.  Set him up in the living room and he’s fine.”

 

“Are you fine?”

 

The glare Ryan levelled at him was smoldering.  “Why wouldn’t I be?” he snapped.

 

“Let’s go back to my place, okay?  You can sleep there tonight, Zack won’t mind.” Spencer scrapped his entire coming out plan, instead planning out convalescence and picking up after this temporary disaster.

 

Ryan’s glare didn’t falter.  He pressed back more firmly against his chosen tree and crossed his arms.  “You said Zack doesn’t want me coming over.”

 

“He won’t mind.  Not tonight. You can’t just-”

 

“Don’t tell me what I can’t do,” Ryan interrupted, voice like fire.  He shoved off the tree and got into Spencer’s face, despite being shorter and smaller and just generally less imposing.  Spencer took a step back and let him. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been taking care of myself for the past fourteen years.  I don’t need any fucking pity, so just-” He paused, pacing away and then back. He stopped facing away. “Fuck it,” he spat. “I’m going home.”

 

“Would you just let me help you?” Spencer snapped back, reaching out and catching Ryan’s wrist, just like earlier.  Ryan stumbled back, stopped, and nearly fucking snarled at Spencer.

 

“Let _go,_ ” he snapped, and tugged, but Spencer wasn’t letting go this time.

 

“Just calm down so we can talk about this!” Spencer snapped back and squeezed, and Ryan gasped.  Ryan gasped in a way that suggested pain, suggested the kind of pain that didn’t come from just squeezing somebody’s arm.  Spencer faltered for a split second, glancing down. The first thing to hit him was the scent of blood. The second was the claws protruding from his fingers.

 

Spencer recoiled like he’d been burnt, and Ryan stumbled back, clutching his arm to his chest and grimacing down at it.  Spencer heard his heart pounding as Ryan’s anger got replaced with confusion. He heard every sound in the forest- animals skittering nearby, water trickling through a stream, leaves rustling in the wind, traffic from several nearby roads, the sounds of television sets in houses right outside their hiding place, voices and conversations and motors of hundreds of appliances running all buzzing together in a cacophony that threatened to drive Spencer crazy.

 

He did it again.  He couldn’t believe he did it again.  He hadn’t bitten him, thank God, but he’d fucking slipped and now Ryan was _bleeding_ and he was- fuck, he was looking at him with what could only be described as horror.

 

Spencer was suddenly painfully aware of himself, of the way his vision was suddenly too sharp and colors were too dull, the aching in his jaw, itching where hair was growing thicker and quietly throbbing pain from bones threatening to shift.

 

Ryan glanced down at his arm again, then traced his eyes down Spencer from his head down, like he was trying to track the changes.  Spencer swallowed around a sandpaper tongue. “So this is what I wanted to tell you,” he said dumbly, giving in a bit and knowing he must have looked absolutely bizarre, like a stupid wolf-man in one of Jon’s lame movies.  He held his arms out and tried for a smile. “Ta-da?”

 

Ryan’s hand fell to his side, cuts so shallow that they were already starting to clot and dry.  One lone drop of blood rolled down his wrist and over his thumb. Spencer followed it with his eyes.  “What the fuck,” Ryan said, eventually.

 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

 

Ryan shook his head and took another step back, “You’re a werewolf,” he said.  Spencer sighed heavily and nodded.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“That’s why you’ve been so fucking weird,” He added, and Spencer nodded again.  

 

“I’m really sorry.”

 

He looked Spencer over again, then looked down at his own arm where the blood had dried in tracts tracing to his palm.  He clenched his fist and looked up with narrowed eyes. “Don’t ever fucking talk to me again,” Ryan said. He might as well have punched him in the gut.

 

He turned on heel and walked away.  Spencer didn’t follow him, didn’t know if it was better to ignore his request and stop him, or honor it and let him go.  He didn’t know anything to say to make it better, though, so he stayed where he was. Watched Ryan leave and felt vomit rise in his throat as his panic reached a climax.

 

* * *

 

 

Spencer had walked around town for about an hour before getting totally overwhelmed. There were too many people, too much traffic, too many restaurants cooking and it was all too loud and bright and smelly and annoying. It gave him a headache, so he kept walking until he found the bridge.

 

It was an ancient, rickety thing buried deep in the woods.  It took a good half hour of walking to find it, but the trip was worth it in the end.  It had been one of his favorite places when he was a kid, just an old covered bridge in the middle of the woods, part of an unkept country road that once lead to a towering estate.  The house had been torn down years ago, but the bridge remained. When Spencer was a kid he’d ride his bike out there and stand on the railing, looking down the twelve foot gap between the bridge and the water and looking for turtles. Sometimes he’d scale down the side of the bridge and play at the edge of the creek, trying to catch frogs and painting himself in mud.

 

Spencer considered going down there now, sure the climb had to be easier with longer legs and stronger arms.  But it would be a long walk home with shoes soaked in mud, and Spencer was a little bit too miserable to relive childhood bullshit.  He sighed and folded his arms on the railing, leaning into it and looking for turtles. A noise to his left tweaked his ear, but he ignored it, dismissing it as nothing.

 

“You are _really_ good at hide and seek.”

 

The sudden voice to Spencer’s left startled the living hell out of him, and he screamed and jumped back and tripped over an uneven plank on the bridge.  He stumbled and caught himself on the railing, claws springing out of nowhere and digging into the wood. Damn it. A few feet away, sitting nonchalantly on the bridge railing, was a familiar figure.  He held a cigarette between his teeth and lit it with fire he produced with the tips of his fingers alone. The air smelled weird, like tobacco and cinnamon. Spencer sneezed.

 

Peter-whatever-the-third, prince of the fags, or something.  He scowled.

 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Spencer snapped, yanking his hand free before crossing his arms over his chest.

 

His royal highness grinned, amused. “Zack sent me after you. Have you ever thought of answering your cell phone? He and Jon have been going out of their minds trying to find you.”

 

Spencer blinked a few times. “They’ve been looking for me?”

 

“It’s ten o’clock, genius.” It looked like the short guy actually _floated_ down from his perch on the railing. “You were supposed to be home six hours ago, and while I’m sure Zack’s not keeping you on a tight leash or anything, radio silence tends to freak people out.”

 

Spencer pulled his phone out to check and, oh… eight missed calls from Zack and Jon. Well shit.  “Oh….”

 

“Mhm.”

 

“ _Shit_.”

 

“Yeah, Zack’s not happy. C’mon, let’s get you home before he freaks out and kills the both of us.”  The guy walked closer, and before Spencer could protest he clapped his hands and they were suddenly standing in the apartment.

 

For a moment Spencer thought he’d blacked out, because that seemed more realistic than teleportation.  But he was standing, and Pete was still there. Or at least, he was standing for about three seconds before his head spun so badly he had to stumble to the couch and sit down.  He closed his eyes and swallowed back a wave of nausea, and when he opened them again, Zack was standing in the room, frowning at him.

 

Oh shit.

 

“Thanks Pete,” Jon said, while Zack grabbed Spencer by the back of his jacket and hauled him to his feet. Spencer swayed, still dizzy, and Zack kept his hands firmly on Spencer’s shoulders.  It made him feel sturdier.

 

“No problem, wolfies. Just call if the puppy runs away again.” He winked, and then he was gone in a puff of smoke. Spencer sneezed. He hated fairies.

 

“Dinner is on the stove if you want it,” Zack said, letting go of Spencer, and Spencer just about fell over. “I called off work tonight, so now I’m going to bed. We’ll talk in the morning.” He sent Spencer a stern look before heading to his bedroom and closing the door.  Spencer frowned a bit, watching him.

 

Jon headed to the kitchen and called back over his shoulder, “You hungry?”  Spencer followed him. “You scared the hell out of us, you know. Zack is pissed.”

 

“Yeah, I caught that.”  Jon tossed a plate in the microwave and pressed start, then leaned down for a moment to watch it spin.  Spencer frowned down at the lukewarm pizza sitting out on the counter, and for the first time in a long time, decided he wasn’t hungry.

 

Jon leaned back against the counter and looked at him for a moment.  Spencer hyped himself up for another lecture, but Jon just grinned at him. “Just answer your fucking phone next time.” Jon laughed as he said it. “Asshole.”

 

“Yeah, whatever,” he said, and laughed when Jon picked up the dish sponge and chucked it at him.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

**May**

“As it is written ‘wives, submit yourselves to your own husbands as you do to the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church, his body, of which he is the Savior. Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit to their husbands in everything.’  This verse in ephesians simply clarifies what we already know naturally. Marriage, as both a natural institution and a sacred union, is perfectly designed by God. It is perfect, as the Lord is perfect, and anyone who goes against this design, who does not fulfill their duties to God, is sinning. How dare someone think that they know better than God?”

 

Brendon wasn’t feeling particularly well as he listened to the sermon drone on.  Some were worse than others, but this definitely was one of his least favorites. These sorts of talks made him feel like he was in the hot seat, like it was a personal call-out message just for him, and it never failed to make him feel terrible. Gender roles and God’s plan and obedience and sin.  Brendon hadn’t even done anything- not really, nothing beyond _thoughts_ , although those were bad enough as it was….

 

Obedience.  Brendon really struggled with that one. He wasn’t sure how to grapple with his feelings around it, but something about the entire topic didn’t sit right with him.  What if the person bossing you around didn’t really know what was best for you? What if they told you the wrong thing? What if being obedient _made_ you sin?  Was it better to do the right thing and disobey, or to obey and sin anyways?  If you were bound to fail anyways, how was that fair?

 

And the whole gender thing.  Brendon wasn’t sure he was comfortable with the idea of ever being in charge of anyone.  Mason and Hannah seemed happy, but were they sinning, by not having a proper relationship?  His mother and father did things pretty much by the book, but his mother seemed miserable. Why should his father have power over any of them?  Why should his mother be scared to step in, to voice her ideas, just because God told her to be obedient to her husband?

 

How was any of this fair?

 

He only grew angrier as he thought about all of it, but he made himself sit up straight and pretend to pay attention, already dreading what was turning into a very long day.

 

The service ended, and Brendon dragged his feet as he followed his family out of the chapel area and into the front hall of the church.  He had five minutes before youth group started, but he wasn’t too excited to sit around with a group of peers and rehash the sermon. He didn’t feel like hearing a bunch of teenagers who were better than he was talk about how excited they were to fulfill God’s role for them, while he sat there miserably and thought about how he wasn’t fit for his role. He couldn’t be strong and reliable, and he didn’t want to have a little wife following him around and doing whatever he said. He didn’t know what he wanted, but it wasn’t that.

 

“Mom?” he asked, leaning against her a bit. “Can I not go to youth group?”

 

“Are you feeling alright, sweetheart?” she asked, turning to him and pressing her hand to his forehead, feeling for a fever. “You looked a little flushed. Do you have a headache?”

 

“What’s the matter with him now?” his dad said.  He turned to them with a scowl, and Brendon felt himself shrink.

 

“I feel fine, Mom,” Brendon said quietly. “I just… can I please just wait in the car until it’s time to go home? Please?”

 

His mom opened her mouth to speak, but his father barrelled over. “If you’re not sick, then there’s no reason you can’t go to youth group. Don’t be ridiculous.”

 

Brendon couldn’t help the words that fell out of his mouth without his thinking.  “I didn’t ask you,” he said, temper simmering. The look his father gave him was akin to a volcano just about ready to burst.

 

“Excuse me, young man, do you want to repeat that?” he asked, a bit too loud.  Brendon could feel eyes on them. It was too crowded to be having this conversation.

 

“I don’t want to go,” Brendon said, not bothering to apologize for what he’d said. “Why can’t I just wait in the car?  I already sat through the whole sermon.”

 

His dad’s eyebrows shot up.  Brendon swallowed the apology that almost burst out of him.

 

“I do not appreciate your attitude,” his dad said.  Brendon stayed adamant in his refusal to apologize, just a bit too proud with so many people staring at them.  His temper inched closer to a boil. He scowled, and he watched his father’s face turn red.

 

“Brendon Boyd, you have three seconds to march yourself towards the youth room before I put you over my knee right here and embarrass you in front of everyone,” his father threatened, and Brendon recoiled.  He didn’t know if someone laughed of if he imagined it, but he was willing to admit defeat.

 

He stormed away towards the stairs to the basement, letting go of his better judgment and muttering “This is bullshit,” under his breath as he went.

 

His father’s hand caught his upper arm and yanked him back.  Brendon stumbled into him. “What did you just say to me?” he demanded, and Brendon swallowed a growl in his throat before responding.

 

So many people were staring.  Brendon felt like he was on fire.  He was caged, and _humiliated_ , and apparently very stupid because he responded, “I said that this is bullshit, _sir_ ,” and couldn’t even be shocked by his father’s reaction.

 

His father slapped him across the face, and despite expecting it, Brendon gasped.  His father shook him a little, not relinquishing his grip on his arm and barked, “Don’t you ever speak to me that way again!”

 

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out.  Whatever bravery he’d had a minute ago flooded out of him.

 

“You will be,” he warned, and then gave him a shove towards the stairs to the youth room.  “Now go.”

 

Brendon went.  He kept his head down and practically flew down the stairs, tears stinging his eyes because fuck him.  Fuck him and fuck all the people who were staring at him and whispering and fuck that stupid kid who laughed.  At youth group he sat at the back of the room and kept his mouth shut. They didn’t try talking to him either, at least. Brendon didn’t know if he could face them after being so humiliated. He didn’t talk the whole way home either, and the van was tense. Nobody said a word.

 

“You know he loves you,” his mom said later, after everything was said and done.  His father had stormed away, gone outside to chop some wood and blow off steam, leaving Brendon inside tired and hurt and miserable.  His mother found him in his bedroom shortly after he’d gone off to hide, and now she was sitting on the edge of his bed and running her fingers through his hair.

 

 _I’m not so sure_ , he thought but didn’t say.  

 

“I know this is hard for you. Just give him time, Brendon. Just a little more patience and you’ll come to terms with each other. He doesn’t know how to handle you growing up- making your own decisions and being your own person.”

 

“He got through the others just fine,” he said, not entirely sure if that was true.  He’d been little when Mason and Matthew were his age, but he’d never noticed anything.  And maybe it was because Valerie and Kara were girls, but they didn’t seem to have this hard of a time either.  “He has plenty of practice.”

 

“Some kids are just easier, sweetheart.”  

 

Yeah, that figured.  His mom was right. Of course his dad hadn’t been so hard on the others, but they hadn’t been as hard to deal with.  If Brendon could just get a grip, just… be less of a problem, then maybe this would all even out. Maybe his mom was right.

 

“You’ll both grow past this,” she said, and Brendon wanted desperately to believe her.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They had a few days of smooth sailing after the disaster of church.  It was early May, the weather was nice, and Brendon thought things might start to be looking up.  

 

Of course that meant he had to go and ruin things.  Brendon wasn’t even sure why the argument started. He had been doing something, and his dad had snapped at him. Brendon said something sarcastic back, and soon they were both shouting.

 

He’d let himself believe that his mom was right, that things would start getting better, but then this happened. This always happened, and Brendon was sick of it.  It didn’t even make him sad anymore. He wished he could scrape together sad, feel the guilt and remorse he was supposed to, but as tempers flared and the oh-so-familiar argument roared, all he could manage was angry.  

 

“Why do you always do this?” he screamed. “What do you _want from me_?”

 

“You are acting hysterical!” his dad yelled back. “I ask you to do one little thing, and you give an attitude. Do you know how much it takes to support this family? To feed you, clothe you, send you to school? You should be grateful!”

 

Brendon threw his hands up. “You’re supposed to do that shit! You’re my father!”  He watched as his mother started to tear up and left the room, and then the guilt slammed into him.  She asked him to try, to just be patient, and he couldn’t even handle that.

 

“See what you’ve done?” his father demanded. “Are you happy now? You make your mother cry!”

 

Brendon couldn’t help but laugh at the accusation as he yelled back.  “You’re the one who picks fights with me!”

 

“I don’t want to hear another word out of you.  You may think that you’re an adult, young man, but you are sorely mistaken!” Mr. Urie shook his finger at Brendon as he stepped forward, but Brendon clenched his fists and stood his ground. He felt his hands shifting, his teeth starting to ache, but no. No. He had to keep himself together.  He could do this.

 

Mason was standing in the doorway now, arms crossed and tired expression on his face. He was as sick of the fighting as everyone else, but everyone else had retreated instead of staying.  Hannah and the kids were out in the yard with Kara. Valerie was hiding like usual.

 

“That is enough. Go to your room.”  His father had lowered his voice but still had the edge to it, meaning he could snap any second.  Brendon should have listened. He didn’t want to.

 

“No,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere. If you’re so sick of me, then _you_ leave.”

 

“Brendon, I am warning you-”

 

“I’m not scared.”

 

“You go up to your room right now and wait for me,” his father ordered, and Brendon locked his jaw.

 

“Why?” he asked. “So you can beat me again? Because that’s obviously worked wonderfully so far, _Dad_.”

 

“Brendon Boyd-”

 

“I’m not scared of you!” Brendon yelled even though he was, actually.  Terrified. He was trembling.

 

“Brendon, go upstairs, right now.”  His father grabbed for his arm, but Brendon shoved him, hard.  Harder than he should have been able to naturally.

 

“Don’t touch me!”  His father stumbled backwards, knocking into the table and almost falling over.  Mason took a step into the room, like he was considering intervening.

 

His father caught his balance, though.  He roared, “That is is!” and lunged forward with a fist raised.  Brendon’s body reacted before his mind did, and suddenly he was blocking his dad’s arm in his hand, nails sharpened into claws and digging into his father’s skin, drawing blood.  

 

“I’m not going to let you hit me anymore!” he screamed. What happened next scared even him.  A deep, menacing growl came deep from inside his throat as he lunged forward, knocking his dad to the ground and shifting midair until-

 

“Brendon!” Mason yelled out and then strong arms were pulling him back, throwing him to the side as Brendon shifted entirely back into his human form and stumbled sideways. He hit his head against the counter as he went down, but that didn’t even concern him. His father was laying on the ground, bleeding and looking at him with huge, horrified eyes. Brendon had just…. Brendon had just snapped.

 

He’d just attacked his father.

 

He hadn’t bitten him, but his claws had left scratches that bled and tears in the fabric of his shirt.  On his arm. His chest. An ugly scratch near his throat. He’d been strong enough to shove his father to the ground; his father, who was ten inches taller and a hundred pounds heavier than him.  He could have killed him.

 

Mason stood between them, staring agape at Brendon, his arms out to separate them.  Their mom stood in the doorway, hand over his mouth and and tears streaming down her face, looking at Brendon like she couldn’t believe her eyes.  Brendon couldn’t believe it either.

 

He looked down at his father, who groaned as he struggled back to his feet.  Brendon swallowed his tongue, all the fight draining out of him. “D-dad… I…”

 

“No.”  His father took Mason’s hand and stood.  Then he backed away, glaring Brendon down. “No, you go get your things and you get out of here. Being a faggot was bad enough, but I will not, under any circumstances, accept this. Get out of my house.”

 

Just like that, the floor fell out from underneath him.  “But… but I don’t….” He looked desperately at his mother, praying she’d say something for _once_.  Talk some sense into him.  

 

“The devil’s got you,” she sobbed, voice barely above a whisper, then she turned and fled.

 

Brendon looked at his father, then at Mason, then at his mother’s huddled form at the kitchen table.  His eyes stung, and he looked back at his brother. Mason kept blinking, like he was waiting for Brendon to change over again at any second and rip his throat out.  He looked scared. His mother didn’t look scared, she looked heartbroken.

 

“Mom?” he asked quietly, glancing at his father before looking back at her.  ‘Please don’t do this’ he pleaded silently. ‘Say something.’

 

“Brendon….” her voice was very quiet, choked up. “I think it would be best for you to leave.”

 

And that was it… It took him less than ten minute to shove all of his clothes and a few of his things in a suitcase and all of his school things in his backpack. He didn’t know where else he could possibly go, so a short while later, he was knocking on Zack’s front door.

 

* * *

 

It was quieter than he was used to.  The only sounds were the steady breathing of the other men in the house, quiet motors and electrical noises, and the occasional car passing.  All easy to tune out. Spencer’s bed was soft but larger than Brendon’s at home, and it felt empty. Everything was foreign, and even though his day had been horrible and exhausting, he didn’t feel horrible or exhausted.  He felt fine, kind of upset, but mostly fine, and he was wide awake.

 

He tossed and turned, rolling onto his side and looked around again. Spencer kept his room clean.  It was pretty empty actually. Brendon would have expected some unpacked cardboard boxes with how recently he’d moved in. There wasn’t any clutter though, and everything was lined up nicely or stacked or put into order. The bed had been made when he’d first came into the room, and the only thing out of order was Brendon’s bags tossed lazily in the corner.

 

Brendon had been hearing whispering for a short while, so he knew someone else was still awake.  He kept himself from eavesdropping, because they’d taken him in out of the kindness of his heart, and he had to pay that back.  He’d start by being a good house guest, and if he was good and quiet and stayed out of the way, maybe they’d let him stay.

 

Those reassurances didn’t make it any easier to sleep, and he had school in five hours.  Zack said he was giving him a ride in the morning, and Brendon agreed that going would be the best choice to make.  The last thing he wanted after getting kicked out was the school calling his parents. They might decide to track him down, and… well, Brendon wanted to see them.  He wanted to go home. But he couldn’t actually imagine doing so. He didn’t think he was brave enough.

 

The long walk in the dark from his house to the apartment had made the night seem to last forever, especially while dragging a suitcase behind him and startling at every noise from the shadows.  He’d spent a long time deciding where he was actually going to go, and then it took even longer to convince himself that Zack and Jon and Spencer would let him in at all. When he finally made it, it wasn’t very late out, but he still spent quite a while standing across the street and trying to hype himself up.  They’d talked for a few hours, and then Zack had ordered them all to bed, said they could figure everything out in the morning, but they needed to sleep first.

 

But Brendon couldn’t sleep, and it was driving him crazy. His brain felt panicky, and the rest of him felt twitchy. He was lucky, he reminded himself. Super lucky that he had a place to stay, and that Zack and Jon and Spencer were being so kind.  

 

Right after knocking on the door, Spencer had thrown it open, taken one look at him, and then dragged him inside. When Brendon had asked Zack if he could crash, just for a night, and then get out of their hair, Zack had squeezed his shoulder and said, “You’re part of the pack, kid. Don’t think we’re letting you run off if you have no where to stay.”  When Brendon had started crying for God-knows-what-reason besides exhaustion and heartache and the fact that he had  _friends_ , Jon had pulled him into a hug and whispered really stupid jokes to him until he was giggling too hard to keep crying.

 

He had been feeling okay with all of them there distracting him, but now the house was quiet and Brendon was alone with his thoughts, and it sucked.  Despite everything, Brendon wanted to be home, but that was just too bad. He’d have to suck it up and get used to this. He listened to the sounds of Spencer and Jon whispering until they faded away, and Brendon was pretty sure they had fallen asleep.

 

Brendon himself didn’t pass out until 4 a.m., and even then, he didn’t get a lot of rest.

 

* * *

 

 

When he woke up in the morning, the first thing he thought was ‘bacon.’  The house reeked of it, the scent floating through every room, potent enough to wake him up from a dream about Sir Elton John and a waterpark.

 

Brendon wasn’t even disappointed about the dream, because when he got up and wandered into the kitchen there was definitely bacon. Bacon and other things. His stomach growled.

 

Zack turned and grinned at him. “‘Morning.”

 

“Good morning,” Brendon replied, sniffing the air and following his nose to the plate of freshly fried bacon. He reached for a piece, but Zack picked the plate up and set it on top of the refrigerator.

 

“Wait for breakfast,” he said, and Brendon pouted. Zack was totally blocking the fridge, and that just wasn’t fair. Didn’t he know that Brendon was a growing boy? A growing werewolf boy with needs? Needs for bacon. Lots and lots of bacon.

 

“Go wake Spencer,” Zack said, just as Jon stumbled sleepily into the kitchen and sagged down at the table, yawning and scratching the back of his neck, eyes barely open.

 

“Bacon? Zack, you do love me,” Brendon heard Jon mumble.  He ducked out of the kitchen and into the living room, where he found what looked like a wolf cub curled up on the cushions, half under an afghan, squeezed haphazardly into Spencer’s pajamas. It looked silly, and Brendon couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

 

Spencer woke up, blinking his eyes open slowly and looking curiously at Brendon, before stretching his jaw wide in a yawn and then shifting. Human-Spencer appeared where wolf-Spencer had been and grinned, sleepily, sitting up and stretching his arms above his head.

 

“I smell bacon,” he said, voice heavy with sleep, as he tried to tug his clothes back into proper position instead of caddywhompus.

 

“Zack made breakfast,” Brendon explained, starting to fidget because he really was hungry. He hadn’t eaten dinner the night before, and if he didn’t eat soon, he was probably going to like, die, or something. Spencer got up out of bed and went into the kitchen, Brendon following close behind him, watching as Spencer stole the plate off the top of the fridge when Zack was focused on something else and shoving three pieces into his mouth. He tossed one to Brendon, who caught it and grinned, grateful.

 

“Give me that,” Zack grumbled, snatching the plate back and shooing Spencer and Brendon towards the table.

 

Jon was slumped onto it, head down and nose smushed against the cool wood, fogging it up with every breath. Spencer sat down next to him and ran his fingers through the hair on the back of Jon’s head while Zack set several plates of food down on the table. Brendon’s mouth started to water. He took the plate of bacon all to himself and was busy putting as much as he could manage onto his own plate.

 

“Sleep well?” Zack asked, and nodded a bit when Brendon lied and said yes, thank you, he had.  He took a long sip of his coffee and said, “Then I guess we’d better talk about our situation here.”

 

Brendon’s appetite was quickly replaced with nerves mid-bite, so he swallowed hard and cleared his throat.  “Sure, um, okay. What do you want to talk about?”

 

“Your parents.  I know you walked us through this all last night, but do you think this will be a temporary thing, or-”

 

Spencer cut Zack off mid-sentence and snapped, “He’s not going back there.”  Brendon flinched, eyes growing wide, and waited for Zack to get pissed. Instead, Zack and Spencer exchanged a look before Zack looked patiently back at Brendon.

 

“That’s up to you, kiddo,” he said instead, holding up a hand when Spencer opened his mouth to protest.  “We ain’t keeping you here against your own will. This is your call to make.”

 

Brendon frowned and started fussing with the string of his sweat pants.  “Um…. I mean, it’s not like I have anywhere else to go….”

 

“What if your parents ask for you back?” Jon asked around a mouthful of eggs.  Brendon flinched again, just at the suggestion, and chewed on his lip as he thought it over.

 

“They won’t,” Brendon said.  “I… I don’t see them getting over it very quickly.  My dad isn’t one to go back on his word, and, um, he made it pretty clear last night….”

 

There was silence at the table, and Brendon held his breath and stared holes into the tabletop.  He wasn’t going to cry again, even if he felt like it. Men don’t cry, and he didn’t want them to think he wasn’t grateful.  

 

Eventually, Zack spoke again.  “You don’t have to decide right now, but we’ve already taken in Spencer, and it’s not like we don’t have the extra room.”

 

He nodded again, felt himself choking up.  He took a sip of his orange juice just to have something to do.

 

Brendon didn’t know why he was thinking it over.  It wasn’t like his parents were taking him back, and it wasn’t like he had anywhere else to go.  He found his voice eventually, coming out choked before he cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind too much,” he said.  “I won’t make a mess or anything, I swear. I mean, I… I’d like to stay here. Thank you.”

 

“Alright,” Zack said, nodding.  “Best figure out school then. What grade are you in?”

 

“Eighth.”

 

“And you go to the high school in town?” Zack asked, and Brendon shook his head.  

 

“My parents sent us to a different school.  It’s parochial, next town over. There was a van that went from our seminary host’s house, but um… I can take the bus or something, I’m sure there’s, um-”

 

“We’ll drive you,” Jon said, waving him off.  “It’s only another month or so-”

 

“Don’t remind me,” Spencer groaned, dropping his head into his hands.

 

“-and we can figure out transfering over the summer.” Jon looked expectantly at Zack, who rubbed his hand over his eyes and sighed.

 

“I’ll figure it out,” he said.  “Maggie will know what to do. Couldn’t have all of this happen in Chicago, could we?  They already have shortcuts in place for custody cases.”

 

“Pete can probably maneuver something,” Jon offered.  “Or we just keep him with us and don’t tell anyone.”

 

“That’s called kidnapping.”

 

“They literally kicked him out,” Spencer argued.  “It’s not kidnapping if the  _kid_  is  _homeless_.”

 

Zack held his hands up and sat back.  “ _Okay_ ,” he gave in.  “Okay. Let me get it all sorted out, alright?  Brendon, I’ll probably have to talk to your parents at some point-”

 

“ _What_?” Brendon asked, once again choking on his food.  

 

“Not now,” he placated.  “Not right away, but to get this all sorted out…”

 

“They won’t talk to you,” Brendon blurted.  “They aren’t. My dad. He doesn’t want anything to do with this werewolf stuff.”

 

“It might still be necessary.”  Zack’s own plate was clean, though Brendon wasn’t sure how he’d been eating during this whole thing.  He picked it up and carried it to the sink. “Let me figure it out, and I’ll keep you updated, okay? I won’t do anything without talking to you first.”

 

That was strange, since Zack was the grown up here.  He could do whatever he thought was best, and it’s not like Brendon’s opinion had anything to do with it.  It was still nice to hear though, so Brendon nodded and picked his fork up again. “Okay,” he agreed and picked at his breakfast until it was time to go and get ready for school.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was bound to happen.

 

Brendon went to school and kept his head down and tried to stay out of the way.  His cousins probably weren’t aware of anything that happened, since his father preferred to keep his business private even from family.  So while Brendon had lunch with Mark and a locker near Chet, he didn’t undergo any unusual harassment.

 

It was a blessing in disguise that they divided lunch by grade level.  Brendon’s school was kindergarten through twelfth, and they did lunch in three big chucks: elementary, middle, and high school.  It was through that system alone that he managed to avoid his sisters as long as he did. He’d been kicked out on Wednesday, and it wasn’t until that following Monday that he finally got pinned down.

 

He’d expected it to be Kara who finally got him, all things considered.  If he was being honest, he wasn’t sure Valerie liked him very much. Yeah, they were family, but that was the extent of their relationship most days.  She and Matthew were great, and he loved them, but it was Mason who really looked after him and Kara who was actually a friend as well as a sibling.

 

But it wasn’t Kara who found him at his locker on Monday afternoon, it was Valerie.  She came and leaned against the locker right next to his own, and when Brendon couldn’t find the guts to speak first, she took care of it.

 

“Tell me you have someplace safe to stay,” she practically demanded, clutching the strap of her bag tight in both hands.  Brendon nodded ever so slightly and tried to shake off the twilight zone feeling he had around this situation.

 

“You’re safe?” she asked.  “You’re not, like, out on the streets, are you?  You’re not in any kind of trouble?”

 

“I’d say I’m in a great deal of trouble, actually, since I got kicked out and all,” he mumbled, because his father was right.  He just couldn’t help but be a smart ass. Valerie would have snapped back at him for that if everything was normal, but instead she wilted, sighing heavily and glancing down at the ground.  

 

She asked, “Do you need help?  Are you okay?”

 

Brendon wasn’t going to hold her out at arm's’ length just for the sake of being cruel.  He nodded. “I’m okay. I’ve got some people.”

 

“Are these people….” She faltered at finding a way to ask this, screwing her face up for a second and getting lost on the word, then eventually biting her tongue and settling for raising her hands up to her head and miming pointed ears.  Brendon feigned ignorance.

 

“Cats?” he guessed playfully, and got smacked on the shoulder.  

 

He snickered, and she snapped, “You  _know_  what I’m talking about.”  She was grinning though, Brendon’s laughter apparently contagious, so he knew he wasn’t in any real trouble. It was still hard to admit, though.  He bit his tongue and nodded.

 

“And are you….?” she asked, trailing off again and not even trying to substitute the word.  This one was even harder to admit, because living with werewolves wasn’t quite as damning as admitting he was one.  He flashed back to every conversation he’d listened to, about monsters and murder and being overtaken by the devil. If any of that was true, the Devil surely had a hold of him in more ways that one, and Brendon wasn’t sure if he’d ever come to accept that.  He’d been fairly sure for a while that he didn’t believe in any of it, but refusing to believe didn’t stop him from feeling sick over the idea of eternal damnation.

 

Brendon nodded again, finally, and said, “Yeah.  Yeah, I am.”

 

“It’s not contagious?” she asked quickly, and he almost laughed.

 

“Not quite.”

 

“Are you dangerous?”

 

He shrugged crookedly and said, “I haven’t bitten you yet, have I?”

 

“Lord almighty…” she whispered, and then she was surging forwards and wrapping her arms around him tight.  He yelped when she did it, just a tiny squeak in the back of his throat, but his surprise didn’t keep him from holding on tight and dropping his chin on her shoulder.

 

“Thank you,” he murmured.  

 

“We’re worried about you.”

 

“He’s not changing his mind, y’know.  This is it. I’m pretty sure.” She sighed again and didn’t say anything, and that was close enough to an agreement.  He swallowed hard and let her go. “I’m probably switching schools too,” he said, grabbing a book from his locker and pressing the door shut.  “I know you’re graduating, but… you should tell Kara to say bye before the year ends, yeah?”

 

“You’re not  _dying_ , we’ll see you around,” she responded adamantly, then frowned and asked, “You’re  _not_  dying, right?”

 

“Don’t think so.”

 

“Then we’ll see you around.”  She took his hand and squeezed, then turned and hurried away.  Brendon watched her go with a heavy heart and spoke to himself.

 

“Yeah,” he whispered.  “I doubt it.”

 

* * *

 

 

The build up for the full moon wasn’t something that Spencer looked forward to.  As if his normal, every day weirdness wasn’t enough, why not amplify it for two days in either direction in a demented werewolf version of PMS.  This time around was different than others, though, as a dark and looming storm haunted the sky and blocked out any trace of moonlight. Spencer knew the moon was coming not because he could feel it in his bones, but because of the calendar Zack kept on the fridge announcing the phases.  The moon was full that night, but you wouldn’t know it by looking at the sky. Spencer couldn’t even  _feel_  it.

 

He did feel exhausted, though.  He laid sprawled out on the living room floor and was sure he wouldn’t have been capable of peeling himself up even if he tried.  Every limb weighed a million pounds, and Spencer had to wonder if that had to do with the moon affecting gravity the way it affected the ocean.

 

Spencer didn’t know very much about the moon, actually, so that could have been entirely true or entirely bullshit.  He thought about asking, but Zack wasn’t within earshot and Jon was in the same bad mood as Spencer.

 

Or maybe a better mood now, considering he came home from work in a pisspoor mood and promptly passed out on the couch.  Brendon was upstairs after Spencer snapped at him, but before he’d run off he’d been moping around complaining about being tired and an aching in his bones, so he must have been feeling it too.  Zack, for his part, hadn’t been going at the punching bag the way Spencer had gotten used to.

 

Evening approached and it wasn’t long until they were all called together and bustled out the door, dragging their feet and being much quieter than usual.  Even Brendon, who was generally elated about the full moon, was half-dead on his feet.

 

The night itself was nothing to crow about.  

 

They turned in early around four in the morning, and when they reached the house Zack said, “Get some rest while you can.  I’ll get you all up for school in a few hours.” That sentence penetrated through Spencer’s exhausted fog like a needle popping a bubble.  He stood up a little straighter and frowned, idling by the stairs.

 

“School?” he asked.  “We were out all night!”

 

“You go to school, I go to work.  It sucks, but it’s life.”

 

“You’re kidding me,” Spencer complained.

 

Zack rubbed at his face and said, “I promise I am not in the mood for jokes.  You guys are expected at school five days a week. If you call out sick every day after the night of a full moon, it starts to look very suspicious.  These are just things we have to cope with. I’m not letting us get caught when you guys can cope with coffee.”

 

“I can have coffee?” Brendon asked, immediately a few degrees more chipper than he had been.

 

“In the morning,” Zack agreed with a nod.  “Now go to bed. I’ll wake you up at seven thirty.”

 

Zack did, indeed, get them up at seven thirty, and he dragged Spencer to school with threats to walk him into the building and to his home room if he had to.  Spencer went on his own accord, because Zack was ridiculous and he wasn’t a  _child_.  He wasn’t happy about it, though, and for the amount of energy he had he might as well have stayed home anyways.

 

But he behaved himself and kept his mouth shut, not wanting to complain about a long night and raise suspicions any further.  He sipped a Redbull between classes, and when he got home from school he didn’t bother getting undressed before collapsing face first into bed.

 

* * *

 

 

 

** June **

Everyone clapped for their kids as they walked across the stage to get their diplomas, but when Spencer walked across the stage, Brendon and Jon both leapt to their feet, clapping as hard as they could and hollering way too loud. Brendon was jumping up and down, literally, and Jon only stopped clapping long enough to pick his camera up and take a picture.

 

Spencer, on a different note, was blushing bright enough to be seen from the audience. They weren’t sitting in the front row because the place had been half-packed by the time they got there, but they’d snagged a spot in the middle, and even from there, they could see that Spencer was beat red while he walked purposefully across the stage, not looking out at the audience until he was holding the diploma, and then only for a moment. Zack was clapping like a normal person, which Brendon thought was totally kind of lame. But he was smiling pretty hard, and… yeah. They were all really proud of Spencer.

 

Spencer looked pretty good in his dark blue cap and gown. He’d recently grown a few inches, and his gown wasn’t totally swimming on him like it was on some of the other kids. He looked- Brendon took a moment to think of the right adjective- sleek. Spencer looked all tall and sleek and awesome. Spencer didn’t agree, of course. When trying his dress on at the apartment, he’d glared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror and lamented, “I look like a blob.”

 

“A sexy blob,” Jon had teased, and the two got into a shoving match that almost squashed Brendon, almost tore Spencer’s gown, and almost caused Zack to kill all of them because he did ‘ _not know how to sew, and it is a rental, Goddamnit!_ ’

 

After they had called everyone’s names and given everyone their diplomas, after the scholarship announcements, the cheesy valedictorian speech, the principal’s infuriatingly boring speech, and the vice-principal’s even more boring and also cheesy speech, they were all free to go. The only thing keeping Brendon from shoving everyone out of the way and sprinting up to Spencer at the front of the auditorium was Zack’s hand fisted in the back of his hoodie, holding him back. Unfortunately, Brendon was the most impatient person in the whole entire world, also probably the most irritating little shit ever when he was impatient, and Zack was probably ready to throttle him by the time Spencer came jogging over.

 

“Spencer!” Brendon shouted, jumping on him as soon as Zack let go. “You graduated!”

 

“Yeah!” Spencer responded, laughing and trying not to fall over. Luckily, Jon was standing behind him and caught them when they overbalanced. Spencer was still blushing a bit, and people were looking at them funny, but Brendon really didn’t care that much.

 

“Come on, it’s too crowded here,” Jon said, and Zack pried Brendon off of Spencer and dragged them all out of the auditorium, outside to the grassy area in the front of the school.

 

“Smile!” Spencer laughed and blushed, holding his hands up to block while Jon waved his camera about, trying to snap pictures.

 

“Would you like me to take a picture of all of you?” someone’s mom asked, coming over to them. Jon showed her how to use the camera, but she ended up taking like thirty pictures anyways.

 

There was one taken perfectly though, when Brendon had jumped on Spencer’s back and wrapped his arms around Spencer’s neck. Spencer had laughed, holding his legs up for a piggyback ride, and Jon had wrapped an arm around them both and kissed Spencer on the cheek. Zack was standing there too, hand on Brendon’s head to keep him from falling over, and they were all laughing and smiling.

 

Brendon totally pretended he didn’t see Jon smiling goofily at the picture after it had been developed and slipping it into his wallet. If Jon was acting all silly, it wasn’t any of Brendon’s business anyways. It was a pretty great picture though.

 

* * *

 

 

It was an ordinary Saturday afternoon.

 

Brendon had chosen to come with him, but when they actually reached the house and parked the car on the side of the road in front of it, the kid couldn’t seem to move from the passenger seat.

 

“You can wait here,” Zack offered, not quite knowing how to go about any of this.  He’d gone with Maggie, Jon’s mother and his own alpha, before when she’d visited homes of the children she’d taken in.  She was well-respected and a force to be reckoned with, but the world was dangerous out there for werewolves and sometimes she needed a bit of muscle backing her up.

 

Zack never did the talking, though, and while Brendon didn’t reveal much about his previous situation, there were a few things that Zack could infer.  Kids didn’t get  _that_  polite and  _that_  skittish overnight, and even if Zack was wrong, even if Brendon wasn’t battered, his parents had still kicked him out on the streets, and Zack didn’t take well to  _anyone_  who told their kid they were unlovable.

 

He didn’t take well to racists either, and oh boy.  This was going to be a fun conversation. Zack took a few deep breaths to steel himself before he stormed up their and kicked their front door in.  He couldn’t lose his temper during this. He had to get a grip on himself.

 

Brendon started fidgeting next to him, and when Zack glanced over at him, he said, “We don’t have to do this.  We should just go home. I’m sorry, this is- this is dumb, and you’re mad, so let’s just go.”

 

“Not your fault, twitchy,” Zack told him, unclenching a fist and dropping what he hoped was a reassuring hand on the top of Brendon’s head.  He ruffled his hair. “I’m not angry with you, okay? But I’m going up there whether you come with me or not. It’s your call.”

 

“I’ll stay here.”

 

Zack nodded, and he left the car running as he got out and cracked his back.  He kind of wanted the back up, he mused, as he made his way to the front door, but he also didn’t want the kid doing anything he was uncomfortable with.  Not when it came to this. This kind of thing could really mess kids up, he’d seen it.

 

The house was big, easily twice the size of Zack’s own, with a white picket fence and everything.  They had a doorbell, but Zack forgoed that and knocked instead, letting his fist fall heavy, rattling the door frame.

 

He wasn’t crystal clear on what kind of strings Pete was pulling in this situation, but Zack often times found it better not to ask.  He’d gotten it simplified, though, from a lawyer and a court case and a custody battle to a few signatures on the paperwork. Zack wasn’t going to question something that convenient, though he was a little disappointed he couldn’t forge their signatures himself.  He didn’t want to talk to these people.

 

He had to, though, when the front door opened, and Zack was faced with someone who equaled him in height and mass.  Zack was a bit broader, maybe, a little softer around the middle, but Mr. Urie was no small man and that just made Zack furious.  

 

This asshole, this  _giant_  mother fucker had been smacking around a kid who couldn’t weigh more than a hundred and thirty pounds.  This guy had the  _audacity_  to kick his child out on the streets with, as far as he knew, nowhere safe to go, and then look  _innocent_  and  _pleasant_  when he opened the Goddamn door.  

 

Zack was seeing red.

 

“Can I help you?” Mr. Urie asked, and Zack took another moment to look him over.  Tennis shoes, khakis, and a tucked in polo shirt. His hair was kept tight and neat, and he didn’t have a touch of stubble on his face.  It was all very military. A few details about Brendon’s behavior began to fall into place.

 

“My name is Zack Hall,” he said and held his hand out.  Mr. Urie shook it with a strong grip, but not quite as strong as Zack’s.  He made sure of it. “I’m here to discuss your son.”

 

The guilt that flashed briefly across the man’s face, accompanied by a sudden spike of the heart beat and an immediate outbreak of sweat, was very satisfying to watch.  “My son?” he asked.

 

“Brendon,” Zack clarified.  Mr. Urie reached up and held the edge of the door, as if threatening to slam it.

 

“Has something happened?” he asked, tone of voice suggesting that he was expecting some sort of trouble.  If Zack’s own kid went missing for a month, Zack’s first question would be for their well-being. Then their location, and then what he needed to do to help.  But no, instead it was ‘ _has something happened?_ ’  Perhaps Zack was judging this man unfairly, but he doubted it.

 

“Could we go inside and talk?” Zack asked.

 

“I think we’d better stay right here.”

 

That was fine.  Zack didn’t want to talk wolf shit out in the open like this, but the neighborhood wasn’t busy, and he didn’t seem to have another choice.  “Fine. Brendon has been staying with me for a while, now. He’s a good kid. Got good grades in school this semester.”

 

“Alright,” Mr. Urie responded, and said absolutely nothing else.  Zack blinked once, twice.

 

“You must have been wondering how he’s been-”

 

“No, actually,” Mr. Urie snapped.  Zack crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow.  “He was sneaking around behind our backs and breaking every rule he could think of when he lived here.  If he thinks he is so grown up, then he can find a way to take care of himself. Even if the way he’s found is bothering you, and- I’m sorry.  Who  _are_  you?”

 

“I am the alpha of Brendon’s wolf pack,” Zack said, watching the immediate disgust that spread across the other man’s face.  “I’ve been doing your job this past month, and I must be doing something better than you were, because Brendon is a fucking  _delight._ ”

 

“I don’t think-”  As it turns out, Zack didn’t want to know what this guy thought.  He interrupted him by thrusting the paperwork he’d brought under his nose and holding out a pen.

 

“If you don’t mind,” he said. “I think Brendon would be in a better situation under my roof, but I’m going to need a few signatures to make this happen.  Or I can just head over here every time we need a parent’s signature.”

 

Mr. Urie scowled at him and then at the papers he was holding.  “You want legal custody over Brendon?”

 

Zack nodded and held the pen out a bit farther, until Mr. Urie had no real choice but to take it.  “If you don’t mind,” he repeated.

 

Mr. Urie looked back up at him and scowled.  “How do I know you’re safe?” he asked. “You could be a pedophile or a trafficker for all I know.”

 

“You didn’t think of that when you kicked him out, did you?” he snapped.  “I’d let you ask him yourself if he wants to go with me, but the  _child_  is too scared to even get out of the car and look at you.  So I’d say that I’m a great deal safer than  _you_ .  At least I don’t fucking  _beat him_.”

 

There was no mistaking the second wave of guilt as it washed over his ugly, awful face, and Zack  _knew_  it.  He fucking knew it.  Tempting as it was to pound the guy into the ground, Zack took a breath and found his patience before holding the papers out for a third time.

 

“Now,” he said, tone much more even than it had been moments before.  “If you don’t mind. You don’t want a werewolf kid ruining your reputation, and I don’t want to see your stupid face every time the kid needs a flu shot.  So sign the papers, and he’s out of your hair, okay? You’ll never have to see me again.”

 

It was a stare down, then, but it didn’t take long.  Mr. Urie took the papers and pen from him, and he held them against the wall next to the door while he signed every spot as Zack pointed them out to him.  

 

Eventually, T’s crossed and I’s dotted, Zack took the papers back.  He folded them and slid them into his back pocket, then shook the hand Mr. Urie held out to him.  

 

He didn’t just shake it, though.  He grabbed onto it and jerked the man forward, off-balance, relishing in the startled expression on his face.  “You know you should be fucking ashamed of yourself. Makes me want to kick the shit out of you, give you a taste of your own fucking medicine.  What kind of monster beats on a  _kid_?”

 

Mr. Urie stuttered as he spoke, saying “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

Maybe Zack didn’t, but he was pretty sure he had the situation pinned down.  “Pretend you never saw me,” he said. “If anything happens to me or my boys because you flapped your mouth, you’ll regret it.  Understand? Not a word about this werewolf business to anyone else.”

 

Mr. Urie narrowed his eyes and leaned in.  “That would be  _murder_ ,” he said solemnly.  “I am  _not_  a man of sin.”

 

Zack had to laugh at that one, finally letting him go and stepping back.  Mr. Urie flexed his hand, shaking some life back into it, and Zack bid him farewell.  “Good talk,” he said, then turned and left.

 

Brendon was waiting outside the car for him, leaning against the passenger side door and watching over the hood of the car with giant eyes.  Zack came to a pause when he reached the car, looking back to see Mr. Urie closing the door. He heard the click of a deadbolt.

 

“You hear any of that?” he asked Brendon, going around to his side of the car instead of getting in.  He stopped by the trunk, giving the kid space, but Brendon apparently didn’t want it. He sprung at Zack, who was quick to catch him with a steadying hand in the middle of his back and the other on the kid’s head.  He was  _shaking_.  Zack could smell tears.  He smoothed his hair down and sighed.  

 

“Shhh,” he soothed.  “You’re fine. Everything’s fine.”

 

It was a weird position to be in- comforting crying kids had always been Maggie’s domain.  She had such a  _way_  with them, always knew exactly what to say and exactly how to help.  Her husband, too. Jon senior had been a fucking miracle worker. Zack just hung around to keep everyone fed and safe and help keep track of them all.

 

This was uncharted territory, but he figured he just had to say what  _he_  would have liked to hear when he was a child.  At fourteen he’d finally matched his father in size and weight, and they’d had one final hurrah before Zack marched out the front door and never looked back, but he could still remember feeling scared and sad and really fucking hopeless.

 

If nothing else, he could try and fix that for Brendon.

 

“Thank you,” Brendon mumbled, as if reading his mind.  Zack squeezed him a little bit tighter. Brendon’s voice shook as he said next, “I can’t believe he just… just gave up… I can’t believe he doesn’t  _want_  me.”

 

With that, Zack was officially heartbroken, and he no longer cared that they were standing in the middle of a strange neighborhood in broad daylight.  He hugged Brendon a bit tighter and decided that everything would be okay. He’d make sure of it.

 

* * *

 

 

 

** July **

This wasn’t what Jon imagined his life would be like:  not at twenty, and not since moving to Colorado. Sometimes he felt like a failure.  His mom had already been leading revolutions at his age, planning a wedding, and making a family.  All Jon had done was drop out of community college and move halfway across the country to “find himself,” which he hadn’t even done successfully since Zack had followed him here.

 

His mom had sent Zack with him as both a babysitting gig and a sort of mandatory vacation.  Zack would have done anything for her-  _had_ done anything for her- but he wasn’t built for the city.  Mom had said it herself in confidence to Jon: Zack needs a break.

 

Jon wasn’t sure their current situation was the kind of “break” she had in mind, though he also had a feeling she wouldn’t approve of his current methods of “soul searching” either.  It figures that they’d follow in her footsteps, though, the both of them. Jon may have been the one to bring Spencer home, but Zack was the one who let him stay.

 

Jon had to confess he liked it.  Growing up, his home had been filled to the brim with people.  At the very least it had been Jon and his brothers, his mom, and Zack.  Nevermind the company that was always coming over, friends and packmates and revolutionaries, and once Jon got a little older, other kids with nowhere else to go started stopping by for a warm meal and a safe bed.  His mom kept their doors locked tight and reinforced, but she was quick to open them and beckon people inside. She would have mothered all of Chicago if she could have, but working within the limits of reality, she did her best.

 

She said it’s what Jon’s dad would have wanted.

 

So Jon liked their current situation.  It finally felt like he was doing something, like he was  _helping someone_ , putting some sort of good into the universe that was greater than just serving people their morning coffee.  He liked it for selfish reasons too, though. He liked sharing a bedroom and fighting over the TV remote and having a bit of chaos back in the house.  He liked having brothers again.

 

His real brothers would kick his ass if they ever heard him say that, arguing that it’s his own stupid fault for moving away in the first place, and Jon would have yelled back that they’d been more than welcome to join him.  He missed them.

 

It was this kind of homesickness that found him where he was now, leaning out his bedroom window and blowing sweet smoke into the dry summer air.  It had been an alright day to start, an early shift at the coffee shop and a bologna sandwich for lunch. Brendon was acting more skittish than usual lately, which was setting Jon a bit on edge.  He didn’t seem to believe them when they said he was welcomed here. Jon had tried asking how the meeting with his parents had gone, but Brendon wasn’t talking and Zack was grumbly about the whole thing.

 

Jon didn’t bother pushing.  None of his business, and he could respect that.  

 

Still made him feel all funky, and Jon could have gone for a walk or taken a nap, but there were other ways to settle his nerves that he liked to indulge in sometimes.  The first time Zack had caught him getting high, he and Tom had been sixteen and they’d nearly pissed themselves in fear. Zack had simply studied the scene before him, nodded bluntly, and told them not to let Maggie catch them.

 

She never did, though Jon thought she might have just been turning a blind eye.  Zack knew, though, so Jon didn’t worry about being too careful anymore. He just lounged in his window and watched the birds and blew puffs up at the clouds.  Downstairs, he heard the front door open and close, then heard the familiar pattern of Spencer’s footsteps on the stairs. He didn’t bother moving or putting it away, though he might have if it was Brendon.  He didn’t want to go corrupting the kid.

 

“Yo,” he said, as Spencer stormed into the room and threw himself onto his bed with a huff.  It had taken them three hours to put that damn bed together, which was  _longer_  than it took to move all of Spencer’s things across the hall and settle Brendon in for good.  That bed had been a real strike to the ego. It creaked when Spencer fell onto it, and Jon was pretty sure that if it fell apart, he was going to lose his mind. “Bad day?” he asked.  Spencer replied with a heavy sigh.

 

“Saw Haley,” he answered, and Jon winced sympathetically.

 

“Ouch.”

 

“Yeah.  Oh, and my dad called.  Told him I’m not going to college, and he went  _off_.”  Spencer rubbed his hands over his face, and Jon snubbed his joint out against the side of the house and left it to cool in the window sill before crossing the room and collapsing onto Spencer’s bed.

 

“Not going to college?” he asked.

 

“Why bother?  Not planning on leaving Colorado.  I can be, like, a construction worker or something.”

 

Jon turned to him and raised an eyebrow.  “Construction?” he asked.

 

Spencer rolled his eyes.  “Or something. Anyways, it’s too expensive.  They can’t keep supporting me forever.”

 

Jon raised a hand up in defeat, an ‘ _I’ll drink to that’_  motion, and got back up to retrieve his joint.  “Want some?” he offered. “Your day sucked.”

 

“It did,” Spencer agreed, and he looked unsteadily at Jon for a long moment before rolling to his feet and walking over.  “Why not,” he finally drawled. Jon nodded, lit up, and handed it over. This was the camaraderie Jon missed from Chicago, having someone to chew the rag and blow smoke out a window with.  Knowing that it wasn’t just him and Zack alone on this whole mountain.

 

They spent a while like that, shoulder to shoulder, pointing out birds as the flew by and nudging away june bugs that crept a bit too close for comfort.  Spencer demonstrated bird calls between puffs and bragged about boy scouts, and Jon reminisced about time in the woods when he was younger.

 

“Wait.  You caught a rabbit, like, in your mouth?” Spencer asked in disbelief, nose wrinkling.  He coughed out smoke and fanned it away. Jon stole the measly remains of his joint and took the final drag.

 

“It happens,” he said with a shrug.  “Sometimes you hunt rabbits, sometimes you shit in the woods-”

 

“Oh my  _God._ ”

 

“I was a kid!” Jon cackled and flicked the butt off the windowsill, watched it fall and disappear into the yard below.  He couldn’t see it if he squinted, but he made a mental note to flush the next one down the toilet so he didn’t start some sort of paraphernalia collection in the backyard.  

 

“You can’t tell me you never did your business in the woods, mister boy scout.”  He was feeling a little floaty from the drugs, happy but functional, and pretty relaxed.  A realization smacked him upside the head as he finished his sentence and his mouth fell back open.  “Oh my God, were you a  _cub scout_ ?” he asked.  “Like a  _wolf_  cub scout?”

 

Spencer rolled his eyes, then yawned.  He nodded. “Yeah, yeah, yuck it up.”

 

“You just made my day.”

 

“We never went camping, you know,” Spencer said, and it took Jon a moment to double back on the conversation.  “They’re not stupid enough to let kids run around in the woods overnight.”

 

“Bummer.”  Jon’s fingers itched to be holding something.  He chewed on his fingernail instead. “Making up for lost times now, then.  Cub scouts for real this time.”

 

Spencer chuckled.  “Something like that.”

The sky was turning orange and pink as the sun settled down behind the trees.  The warm summer air was now accompanied by a smooth breeze, something just on this side of chilly that made Jon shiver a little and tuck his hands into his pockets.  “So what did Haley say about-” he started to ask, and quickly lost his train of thought when he turned to face Spencer and found him only a few inches away.

 

They were nose to nose, close enough that Jon felt nearly cross-eyed.  Spencer peered back at him, apparently frozen, and Jon felt something like cosmic forces or stupidity pulling him closer.  Spencer swayed in.

 

Then he immediately jerked away.  He pushed back against the window ledge and shoved himself into the center of the room, and Jon blinked dumbly into the empty space he’d just occupied.  “ _Fuck_ ,” Spencer swore, and Jon wondered what that was about, what had just happened, if whatever it was had been  _his_  doing, and if by doing whatever it was, he’d ruined something important.

 

“Fuck,” Spencer repeated with less venom.  He was speaking quietly, muttering to himself. “I don’t know what I’m-”  He looked up at Jon and snapped his mouth shut. Jon just blinked back.

 

“You okay?” he asked.  “You’re not freaking out, are you?  Have you smoked before?”

 

“I’m fine,” Spencer said.  He rubbed a hand through his hair, making it stick up in a way that looked like devil horns.  Jon was a little captivated. “I’m just- I need some air. I’m going for a walk.”

 

“Do you want me to-”

 

“No.”  Footsteps thundered down the stairs, and the front door closed with a slam.  Jon sagged back against the window and sat, his upper back supported by the window pane to keep him from falling out backwards.

 

“What?” he asked the empty room, and got no answer.  He wondered when Zack and Brendon would be back from dinner, how long he’d be left alone to ponder this mystery.  He’d rather not ponder anything, he decided, fishing out his stash for the second time that evening and lighting up.  He dragged his bed over to the window so he could lay down and smoke without fumigating the whole room. He shut his eyes for a moment, watched dark clouds mingle in the sherbet sky, and decided not to worry about it.

 

* * *

 

 

Spencer didn’t go terribly far, only about a half mile into town where the business to residential ratio changed and streetlights began to flicker on with the setting sun.  He followed his nose to a hole in the wall, which smelled suspiciously like a graveyard and a lot like smoke. The sign read ‘Mosquito’ and a sign on the door said you had to be twenty-one to enter.  Spencer sniffed at the air and risked pushing the door open, and when nobody immediately stopped him there, he wondered the rest of the way inside. It was busy enough with an early evening crowd that he made it unbothered to the bar in the back, past small groups milling around tables and pool games.

 

He propped his elbows on the bar, still wondering where exactly he’d found himself, and waited.  It wasn’t long before a guy, who smelled of blood and beer and very heavily of hair gel, sauntered over to him and leaned on the bar in front of him.

 

“Hey there, sailor,” the bartender said, raising an eyebrow and looking Spencer over.  He had to know Spencer wasn’t twenty-one from the amused expression on his face, but he didn’t tell him to go, so Spencer sat down.  “What can I get you?”

 

“Diet coke,” he ordered, shrugging and trying to act like he was supposed to be there.

 

“Oh sweet heart.”  The guy looked him over again, and Spencer felt violated.  First what had happened earlier, and now  _this_.  Spencer should have just stayed home and gone to bed.  

 

“You’re not diabetic,” the bartender said, and Spencer wondered how he knew that.  “And trust me, you do not need the diet.” Spencer grimaced and sat back a little farther.  

 

He said, “Normal coke then, whatever,” and the bartender nodded and grabbed a can from a cooler under the bar.

 

He slid the can and a glass of ice across the bar to him and said, “You look pretty worse for wear.  If you’re looking for a distraction, there’s some free soft porn over there.” He pointed across the bar and winked.  Spencer followed his gaze to find two men- Zack’s friend, Pete, and someone else- pressed together pretty tightly against a far wall.  Pete was borderline molesting the other guy, groping his crotch and everything. Spencer quickly averted his eyes. The universe was being very ironic tonight, it seemed.

 

“Um….” He glanced up at Alex.  “Is this… is this a gay bar?” he managed to ask, voice just barely above a whisper to be heard over the jukebox music.

 

Alex laughed, loud and cackling, and when he did Spencer saw fangs.  “Oh, no no no, come on wolfboy, I figured you sniffed this place out on purpose,” he said.  Spencer’s heart leapt out of his chest as he considered making a run for it. Alex leaned in with a smirk that showed off gleaming, pointed fangs over snake bite lip piercings.  “This is a bar for the fey and the damned.”

 

Spencer swallowed his tongue.  “What…?”

 

“A bar and a safe haven, that is, not that anyone’s needed it lately.  Try to keep it under wraps so we don’t get shut down, yeah?” Alex grinned wide and asked, “Never seen a vampire before?  You’re adorable, oh Lord.”

 

“Um…”

 

Spencer had more questions- a laundry list of things he wanted to ask without any real idea of how to put them into words.  Mainly he wanted to ask about vampires, and why he’d never heard anything about them until this point. For the love of God, there were danger signs about werewolves posted on every hiking trail from here to the top of the Rocky’s, yet he’d only just found out about the existence of literal blood suckers.  He meant to ask, too, to find a polite way to put those words together when two things suddenly happened very quickly.

 

The first was Pete, who’d abandoned his lover in the corner and was instead clambering onto the bar, bouncing up as if carried by the air.  “Attention everyone!” he shouted, standing upright and waving his arms around. The door slammed open from the back and he glanced back suddenly, gave a half-wave to whoever entered, and continued on.  Spencer followed his gaze to see Zack standing in the doorway and nearly spit his coke out of his nose.

 

“Hunters have been spotted in town!” Pete hollered.  “Stopped in at the truck stop on H-21, three white men in their forties and fifties.  Best everyone gets out of here. Lock your doors and keep your head down, spread the word, I’ll reach out when they’ve passed through.”

 

Pete looked down at Alex and nodded.  “Shut her down,” he said, and Alex walked over to a switch on the wall and hit the lights to full volume.

 

Spencer had no idea what was going on as he watched the bar clear out, people Spencer wouldn’t have guessed were supernatural disappearing out the front and back doors.  He wondered if he should follow them, if it was safe to walk home with “hunters” out, whatever that meant.

 

He didn’t have to make up his mind, though, because before long there was a heavy hand dropping onto the back of his neck and squeezing. “What do you think you’re doing here?” Zack demanded while Spencer choked out of his skin.  

 

He didn’t give Spencer time to answer, instead immediately reeling on Alex and asking, “Do you realize that you’re serving a seventeen year old?”  Alex held his hands up, and Spencer narrowed his eyes at Zack and blushed as Zack shook him a bit for emphasis.

 

“Eighteen…” he muttered.

 

“Nothing alcoholic,” Alex placated.  “I don’t give alcohol to babies, you think I’m an idiot?”

 

“I’m an  _adult,_  actually.”

 

“You’re in trouble, is what you are.  We’re getting out of here. You gonna be okay on your own?”  It took Spencer a moment to realize he was speaking to Alex, until Alex was already mid-sentence.

 

“Yeah, I can take care of myself.  Block the windows and bar the doors, keep the shop open and lure them in if I’m feeling adventurous.  It’s all old hat around here.”

 

Zack nodded, slapped two dollars onto the bar for Spencer’s soda, and all but dragged him out of the bar.  The few people who hadn’t cleared out yet turned their heads to watch, and Spencer felt his face burn with humiliation.  He followed Zack out, not having much choice, and stuck close as Zack set off quickly down the sidewalk.

 

“What does Pete mean by hunters?” he asked, and was immediately shushed.  Zack looked around with wide eyes, either way and then behind them.

 

“I’ll explain when we get to the house,” Zack answered.  “It’s best not to talk about it in open air.”

 

Spencer nodded.  Flickering streetlights cast long, yellow shadows across the street and left inky black hiding places in the corners.  It made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and he couldn’t help but wonder if it was  _them_  who were being hunted.

 

That brought up another question.  “How did you know where to find me?”

 

Zack glanced back at him over his shoulder, the barest traces of a grin touching the corners of his eyes.  “You think I need an elf to do my tracking for me, pup?” he asked. “That’s enough questions. Get inside.”

 

They’d reached the front porch, and Spencer followed Zack’s directions, trotting up the stairs and through the front door, which swung open at their arrival as if Jon was waiting for them.  Zack stopped on the porch and glanced around, either direction and then off down the street. He nodded, once, and headed inside.

 

* * *

 

Zack explained the hunter situation with them all sitting around the kitchen table.  Jon sat, slouching back in his chair and nodding along as if none of this was new to him.  It probably wasn’t. Spencer listened, his stomach sinking more and more, while Brendon’s face was ghost white from the very start of the conversation.  

 

Later that night Spencer found it hard to sleep.  It had been a long and stupid day, and somehow everything that had happened was overshadowed by the alarming news that evening.  People existed, in organized groups, and set out with the sole purpose of murdering werewolves. Spencer felt sick just thinking about it, and he was outraged that he’d been a werewolf for almost a year and was just now hearing about it.

 

Zack said they were rare, small in numbers and not nearly as good at their job as they thought they were.  He told stories of people, of werewolves, who had gone off the deep end and lost their sanity in the woods, attacking humans and being ostracized from society.  They fled and appeared in human form so seldom that they barely remembered they had one.

 

He told stories of wolves who committed such dark crimes they were outcast from communities for the sake of pack morality and safety.  He told stories that sounded dangerously close to the ones Spencer had heard from humans in the first place, and then he explained the hunters.  He explained how they started as vigilante justice from civilians, brave or stupid men who left their towns to hunt the threat, and how that had evolved over the years to what it was now.

 

Fundamentally werewolf bounty hunters, armed with silver infused nets and knives and bullets.  They lined their jackets with garlic and wore heavy crucifixes around their necks. Jon explained that if you smelt garlic and wolfsbane, you run as fast as you can.  Zack mentioned how they were the only humans who weren’t afraid to face down wolves on the night of the full moon.

 

“We might go out of town this cycle,” he said, “But don’t worry about that now.  Just stay inside and keep in contact. Don’t leave the house without a buddy, and  _do not_  go out on your own, you understand me?”

 

They both agreed that they understood, and Jon tried cracking a joke about ‘ _seeing a lot of each other_ ’ to make them feel better, but it only made Spencer feel worse.

 

This whole day had left him exhausted and nauseated.

 

It wasn’t fair to resent Jon for what happened.  Jon hadn’t  _done_  anything, and even if Spencer had gotten close to doing something, he  _hadn’t_.  It didn’t matter.  He’d been tired and floaty, the weed making him feel good in a way he wasn’t used to.  He was lonely, and Jon was convenient, and it didn’t matter if Spencer had gotten lost in his head and nearly kissed him.

 

It was like muscle memory or something.  It wasn’t important. Nothing had happened, and obviously Spencer had bigger things to worry about.  Things like hunters, and werewolves, and not going to college. Things like getting a job and watching his back and wondering if Haley was safe, though he couldn’t swallow his ego enough to ask.  Not after what she’d said to him earlier. No way in hell.

 

Spencer told himself that was part of the problem, that she’d put the crazy idea in his head and it made Spencer act like an idiot.  It wasn’t his fault, and it didn’t matter anyways.

 

Spencer tried to make himself believe that enough to sleep, but it was hard with danger lurking right outside the window and Jon snoring softly just a few feet away.  Spencer resigned himself to a long night and rolled out of bed, padding downstairs for a glass of water and something to do. He found Brendon and Zack sitting up watching TV on the couch.  He glanced at the clock- 2:36 a.m.- and shrugged before wandering over to join them.

 

 

* * *

 

This was the strangest summer of Brendon’s life.  For one, no bedtime. There was a pretty strict curfew, what with the hunters running around town and all that, but Brendon had free range of the house in a way he wasn’t used to.  If he couldn’t sleep at night he could just go downstairs and hang out in the living room. He could lay on the floor. He could take up space at the kitchen table without getting grief for it.  He even went so far as to leave things misplaced in the kitchen after breakfast one day- a bowl by the sink instead of in it, a box of cereal out and overturned but not spilling, the milk jug on the counter, a few drawers open- just to see what would happen.  But nothing happened. Jon walked in, glanced around, and put the milk back in the fridge. Zack closed the drawers. Nobody said a word about it.

 

It was all very strange.

 

Very strange, but nice.  Brendon was starting to feel comfortable, which he supposed made sense.  It had been two months since…. It had been two months since he’d moved in, and they’d accepted him with open arms in the first place.  He was holding his breath, though, waiting for the other shoe to drop because there was  _always_  an other shoe that could drop.  Something he might do to make somebody lose their patience, something that would remind them that they didn’t want Brendon around in the first place.  They couldn’t be this nice to him forever. He knew how irritating he could be.

 

So he settled in but held his breath, keeping a careful eye on things so he could head it off at the pass.  He used to be quite good at that, once upon a time. At keeping peace at home. Not causing trouble. Staying out of the way.

 

He did his best to stick to that, not taking up too much space when the others were around, not talking too much, not asking too many questions, not leaving a mess.  He was settling in really well, starting to feel like maybe he didn’t  _need_  to be as careful here, and those thoughts made him feel awfully guilty.

 

Guilty for being comfortable anywhere else but with his family.  They didn’t want him, and Brendon knew there was no changing that, but he still felt like he ought to try  _something_ .  Like he ought to be begging them to take him back, or if not that, like he ought to be miserable that they made him leave.  But he just felt relieved, and he felt even worse upon realizing that. They loved him. They put so much effort into him. They were his family, and he was  _relieved_  to get away from them.

 

That was wrong.  That had to be a sin, or something, even if Brendon didn’t really believe in that and  _knew_  that he was better off not being in that situation.  He  _knew_  these things, but that didn’t mean they were  _right_.

 

Regardless, Brendon was living the high life. Sometimes he came downstairs in the morning to find two wolves tumbling around and wrestling on the living room floor, and it was  _normal._   The blinds were always shut tight these days, but that didn’t make the house feel gloomy.  Even the imminent threat of hunters couldn’t dampen the fact that he was always well-fed and didn’t have to keep secrets and people were  _nice_  to him.  

 

Brendon had a happy childhood for the most part, but this summer was definitely near the top of his list.  It just felt…. It felt like things were really looking up. Like he might be okay. It was nice to think that he might be.

 

Summer flew by as July ticked away.  He wondered if his family went to the fireworks show the way they did every year, and he found himself missing it until a trip of their own was announced:  four days in White River National Forest. A few other packs from the area were going, all families Brendon had never met before. Zack said they wouldn’t spend too much time together, said they weren’t friends or anything.  That was fine. Brendon had all the friends he needed.

 

It reminded him of being a little kid again, loading the four of them up in the car and setting off on a cross-state road trip.  They set up in the camp ground, pitched a few tents, and Brendon had plenty of time to kick around by the water and lay out in the sun.  

 

Spencer spent a lot of time on the trails, disappearing into the woods for hours and hours and coming back eventually with twigs in his hair, poison ivy on his ankles, and some cool stone or lizard he’d found on the way.  Jon took a lot of naps. He went swimming with Brendon if he begged enough. Zack showed him a five different ways to cook eggs and bacon in a can over the fire.

 

There weren’t too many people there, not near the lot they set up camp in, and even the ones who were around minded their own business.  They didn’t do anything particularly wolfy- they didn’t want to raise suspicions- but Brendon didn’t feel like it was much of a loss with everything else they got to do.  

 

On the day of the full moon he woke up itchy.  He kicked his way out of his sleeping bag at five a.m. and wandered off to distract himself.  Time passed at a glacial pace- he was literally in the woods for  _hours_ \- before the afternoon came and passed and Zack called them together to make their way deeper into the woods.

 

The camp ground cleared out almost entirely on the day of the full moon.  What had been upwards to thirty nearby campers before quickly dwindled to five or six- just a few brave humans who apparently weren’t concerned with the risk of werewolves in the forest.  Them, and the other wolves who’d come with them since the woods back home weren’t safe.

 

It was strange, being in a new place.  Brendon hadn’t thought he’d ever get used to the whole werewolf thing, but he’d apparently gotten used to the woods.  As it was, White River was nice, and Brendon ended the night the way he was meant to- exhausted and giddy and covered in mud.

 

When they returned home the next day, Pete said the hunters had moved on.  That the emptiness on the full moon had been enough to send them a few towns over, and that they still had to be wary but not necessarily diligent, and the relief that passed over Zack’s face was tangible.  Jon cheered out loud and threw his arms around Spencer, nearly knocking them both over. Brendon laughed and launched himself at them,  _actually_  knocking them all to the floor.  

 

Maybe this was all wrong.  Maybe Brendon was supposed to hate himself for being a werewolf and be sad that he wasn’t with his family.  But something felt so right here, so much like an actual family, that Brendon couldn’t help but celebrate- even if he wasn’t supposed to.

  


 

* * *

 

 

**August**

Jon dragged himself into the house and was greeted with chaos.  Not terrible chaos, like a house fire or a hunter attack, but enough chaos to fill the air with adrenaline and angry voices.  He heard Spencer yell “This isn’t your decision, and you can’t make me!”

 

He blinked a few times, taken aback, and he didn’t really have the energy to listen to what they were saying as he made his way into the house.  He was exhausted. Their summer help had quit to go back to school, and Jon was stuck picking up doubles left and right. He’d shut down the store last night and had to stay cleaning until late.  Then he’d had an opening shift this morning leading into a double, which kept him at work from five a.m. until four in the afternoon.

 

There was probably a policy against how much he was working, but the money was too good for him to complain too much.  Even if he was feeling a bit ill from the lack of sleep and time spent on his feet these days. He’d gotten maybe six hours of sleep in the last three days, and Jon was a sleepy guy naturally.  This wasn’t gonna fly.

 

He was nauseous, and the headache that had been a dull throbbing around noon was now at a full roar.  He was free for the next two days, though, and he didn’t even feel bad for the poor saps who’d nearly begged him to come in on his days off and fill in an extra shift for them.  Jon was nice, but he wasn’t a saint. He needed a two day nap.

 

His nap would have to wait, though.  Spencer’s voice ranged out, “ _I’m working on it!”_  and after a brief moment of stomping, the back door was slamming and the house was left in silence.  Jon blinked again, considered his options, and decided that neither Zack nor Spencer were great proponents for conversation.  They were grown ups and didn’t need his help. Jon nodded and shuffled towards the stairs.

 

He found Brendon lurking at the top of them, and he jumped nearly out of his skin when Jon rounded the corner and found him there.  Jon frowned, looking him up and down, and then ambled up to the top of the stairs and sagged next to him.

 

“Yo,” he said, and Brendon hummed.  “You okay?”

 

“Of course,” was Brendon’s immediate reply in a voice much too chipper to be believable.  Jon nodded, and Brendon started bouncing his knee. It made him a bit dizzy. “They’ve been going at it for a while,” Brendon said.  “Zack’s pretty pissed.”

 

“It’s harmless,” Jon said, rubbing his hands over his face when his eyes threatened to slip shut without his permission.  

 

“Spencer’s not going to college.”

 

Jon wondered when that conversation was going to happen.  He sighed and nodded. “You wanna come hang out? I’m gonna crash, but you can chill in my room if you don’t want to be downstairs.”  Growing up the way he had, Jon had the uncanny ability of being able to sleep anywhere and everywhere. If he was tired, he was out, it didn’t matter who was in the room or what they were doing.  

 

Brendon considered it for a long moment- Jon could see the indecision flit across his face- before finally shaking his head.  “Nah, don’t want to bother you.” And Jon didn’t even get the chance to say that Brendon  _wouldn’t_  be bothering him at all before Brendon was on his feet and disappearing into his own bedroom.  Jon was too tired to follow him. He somehow got to his feet without falling down the stairs, and he only had the energy to kick his shoes off and wrap the blanket tight around himself before passing out cold.

 

* * *

 

 

Wind rustled the leaves above them as they made their way home, a strangely powerful breeze for the season flying down the mountains and setting the town on edge.  As if the full moon wasn’t spooky enough by its own right, the weather wasn’t helping any. Spencer squinted up at the sky, which was going from pitch black midnight to a purple twilight above them as the sun got ready to rise.  He grinned at the moon, still shining up above them, and let out a yawn.

 

It was easier in the summer, when full moon nights weren’t followed by full days of responsibility in the morning.  Spencer was going to go home and crash, and it was going to be glorious. He bumped into Brendon, just to mess with him, and snickered when Brendon shoved him back.

 

He’d stolen Spencer’s hoodie when they’d gotten back to the clearing, and Spencer had let him keep it.  It was several sizes too big, sleeves covering his hands and hood falling into his eyes. Brendon looked like an idiot.

 

“Ah shit,” Jon said, the first words spoken since they’d started their walk back.  Brendon pushed the hood up to look at him, and Zack turned and raised an eyebrow. “I dropped my wallet,” he said.  

 

They stopped walking, and Spencer glanced at the others before saying, “I’ll come.”  Zack had done his best to convey the necessity of the buddy system this semester, especially on nights when getting caught out of the house is the equivalent of getting caught red handed.  Spencer was tired, but he wasn’t  _that_  tired, and there was no use having them all double back for something like this.  Zack nodded.

 

“Be smart about it,” he said.  Jon raised his hand in a mock salute and began walking backwards, and Spencer followed after him.  

 

“Probably in the clearing,” he said.  Spencer nodded. “Keep an eye on the sidewalk, though, in case I was dumb enough to drop it on the walk back.”

 

“Or on the walk  _there_ ,” Spencer said, and Jon groaned.

 

“Christ, I hope not.”

 

Spencer laughed, and a stiff wind blew through from behind them and sent them both staggering a little.  Jon caught the back of Spencer’s shirt and tugged him close, anchoring them to the sidewalk.

 

“Watch yourself,” he mumbled, not meanly, and they fell into a companionable silence as they walked on.   It wasn’t a long walk to their neck of the woods- only about a mile and a half- but after a few minutes of walking Spencer lost Zack and Brendon’s scent.  He glanced back over his shoulder, knowing he wouldn’t see them on the same stretch of road they’d come from, since the house was a few sidestreets over and they’d likely already made it home.  The road turned, a slow curve to the left and a slope downward, heading out of the foothills and into what could properly be considered the valley.

 

He sniffed the air again, and then coughed, something strange in the air catching in his throat.  It was something sweet and subtle, and he gagged around it, putting a hand over his mouth in reflex.  Jon stopped, freezing in place, and glanced around them. He coughed, gagged, and pulled Spencer close again with a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Do you smell that?” Spencer asked.  Jon looked a little green.

 

“Fuck,” he muttered, and Spencer was about to ask him what he was thinking until Jon turned on heel and tugged him the other direction, back the way they’d come in the first place.  “Just gotta pray they don’t find my wallet,” he said, apparently to himself, and then, “Come on, we’ve got to move. Now.”

 

“What is it?”

 

“We have to tell Zack.  Zack and Pete, right now.”

 

“Pete’s out of town,” Spencer said, and Jon broke into a run. He ran after him, exhausted muscles aching at the exertion.  “Zack was talking about it yesterday.”

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jon repeated.  “Fine, it’s fine, come on.”

 

But it wasn’t fine.  They only made it another block and a half, Jon cutting them off halfway to take a shortcut down an alley and then switching tracks again to head straight towards the house, when he skidded to a stop and Spencer nearly fell on his damn face.

 

“What now?” he hissed, and Jon didn’t answer him.  The hair on the back of Spencer’s neck stood up, eyes immediately going bright and sharp as the smell became overwhelming and Jon went rigid next to him.  The sound of crunching gravel caught his attention as his stomach tossed, and Spencer whipped around to see a group of men standing not too far away from them.  A little less than a block. Spencer wasn’t sure how he didn’t notice them earlier. He balled his fists, cast a glance at Jon, and hoped for some sort of explanation as to what was going on.  Jon swallowed hard, and his hand fumbled out and grabbed at Spencer’s shoulder without looking.

 

“We have to run,” he whispered.  “We have to get back to the house.  Right now.”

 

Spencer nodded, just barely.  The men were staring straight at them, and it didn’t take night vision to tell that they weren’t  _friendly_.  One of them had a shotgun strapped over their shoulder.  Spencer focused on it.

 

A man from the group broke away and took a step towards them, hand going to his hip as he moved.  Jon flinched, and the hand that had been holding onto Spencer’s shoulder flattened out and shoved him.  Spencer stumbled, the man raised a handgun, and Jon yelled, “ _Run!_ ”

A gunshot broke the air.  Jon hit the ground, clutching at his stomach and tearing at the fabric of his shirt like it was on fire.  Spencer saw red, and his first instinct was to take them on, tear them limb from limb, but then he remembered the gun and all of Zacks’ stories.

 

They had to get out of there.

 

Adrenaline made his skin burn as he hauled Jon up and took off, tripping over the uneven ground as he scrambled to get them out of there.  He didn’t make it very far- didn’t hear the footsteps running after him- before someone slammed into them from behind. He smacked his head on the ground as he fell, a flash of white erupting behind his eyes, and then Jon was gone and someone was on top of him and Spencer lashed out against them, throwing a fist and a knee, and his claws were cutting into the palm of his hand, and then something wrapped in cloth was being pressed under Spencer’s nose.  His head split open in pain as his body went limp.

 

He woke up to something being secured tightly at the base of his skull.  It dug into his jaw and pressed painfully into his nose, and when Spencer growled it was muffled.  They’d fucking muzzled him.

 

“Tie ‘em up, what the fuck is the matter with you?” someone yelled, and Spencer felt himself get rolled and manhandled as something tight and pinching secured his wrists to the small of his back.  The rope stung where it touched his skin and he groaned. He heard a fight next to him, but a sickening  _thud_  lead to silence.  Spencer struggled to move and managed to wrench his eyes open, just to find Jon laying limp and unconscious next to him, head pouring blood.  

 

“He’s harmless, just a bitten.  Look at him,” someone else, someone younger than the first voice, argued.

 

“A borne that size coulda ripped your fuckin’ head off.  You don’t just go  _tackling_  the  _werewolves_!” a third voice scolded, and was quickly hushed.

 

“Keep it down.  Keenan cover up the blood, we’re taking them back with us.”

 

“Were these two alone?” that third voice, Keenan asked again.  Spencer rolled his head to the side and squinted up at the strangers, found the largest of the three ringing his hands and glancing down at them nervously.  There was a young man, someone maybe Spencer’s age or maybe younger, wearing an earflap hat and a massive crucifix in the middle of his chest. An older man, his father considering the likeless the two of them shared, was holding a handgun.  Spencer couldn’t see the guy with the shotgun, nor could he see whoever was crouched down behind him.

 

“Not sure,” someone else answered.  “But we don’t want to wait around too long and find out.”

 

“We can’t kill ‘em here,” the handgun guy, apparently the leader, snapped.  Nearby on the ground a yellow rectangle appeared as someone in a nearby window struck a light on.  “Grab the little one. Keenan cover the blood, and let’s go.”

 

There was little Spencer could do to keep himself from being lifted off the ground and tossed into a precarious fireman carry.  His captor staggered. He tossed his head, hoping to shake the muzzle free so he could bite somebody. He tugged at his hands, found that the added pressure  _burned_ , and quickly gave up.  

 

“Let’s go,” handgun guy barked, and then, “Knock him out, what’s the matter with you?”

 

“Got it,” someone said, and then someone grabbed and pinched his neck,  _hard_ , and Spencer felt his head swim before he went out.

 

It was an indiscernible amount of time later when he came too again.  Spencer woke up, and immediately threw up, all over the inside of the leather muzzle tied around his face and his lap and the forest floor beneath him.  Someone nearby groaned.

 

“Fucking sick,” they said.  

 

The ground was cold, moisture soaking in through his jeans.  His eyes stung as he blinked them open and surveyed the scene.  He was leaning back against a tree, thick chains that  _ached_  where they pressed against him through a thin layer of clothes kept him there.  He pushed up, tried to struggled against them, and the aching turned to burning. He sagged back down, spit leftover vomit out of his mouth, and considered his options.

 

They were in the woods and they were near a campfire.  The air was a disgusting mixture of sickeningly sweet from the weeds burning in the campfire and overwhelming sour from the vomit.  The smoke made Spencer’s throat burn. His stomach was cramping, like he had the flu, coming in waves that would have had him doubling over on himself if he wasn’t tied back.  

 

There were three people there, the youngest one with the crucifix, a woman with a thick braid of hair and fingers that were busy braiding together a rope of garlic on her lap, and an unrecognizable man cleaning a shotgun.  The woman looked up at Spencer and scowled. Spencer looked away. Jon was passed out cold next to him, far enough away that Spencer couldn’t kick him to try and wake him up. He wasn’t tied to anything, just arms and ankles secured independently, but he wasn’t going anywhere anyways.  Spencer felt sick, and he figured this had to be the wolfsbane Zack had warned them about.

 

All three of his captors had masks over their faces, some kind of homemade mix between a hospital mask and a gas mask.  “Smells like ass,” the boy complained, fanning the fire pit and coughing. “Need an upgrade on this shit, God  _damn_.”  He reached around the back of his head and tightened his mask, eyes grimacing as he did so.

 

“Those fuckheads better hurry up.  I’m not poisoning myself because they decided to take their sweet time,” the woman chimed in.

 

Shotgun guy held up the empty barrel and gazed through it, inspecting it or something.  He said, “Let’s just do them in now.” Spencer’s heart dropped to the pit of his stomach.

 

“Don will kick your ass if we kill them without him.  That’s his part, you  _know_ that,” the woman hissed.

 

“I know it’s  _bullshit,_ ” shotgun guy snapped back, and Spencer let himself tune out their bickering as he squirmed a bit, trying to properly figure out his bindings.  His wrists were still secured to the small of his back, hands numb from the weight they were holding, and the ropes around his chest were too tight for him to move.  They’d left his legs free, but there wasn’t much to be done there. He spit again, gagging as another wave of nausea washed over him. He groaned, and three pairs of eyes snapped towards him.

 

“You don’t think he’s gonna-”

 

“Are you kidding me?  He’s a baby. He’s not nearly strong enough-”

 

“You can’t underestimate this type-”

 

“Yeah, but look at-”

 

A sound like fireworks erupted near them, and Spencer leapt out of his skin, startled and thinking it a gunshot.  His three captors jumped too, the woman scrambling to her feet and pulling a knife from her boot as the man with the shotgun made quick work of snapping his gun back together.  He kid stumbled back.

 

“What was  _that_ !?” the kid demanded, and the noise rang out again.  An ear-splitting  _rat-a-tat-tat-tat_.  Firecrackers.  Spencer tugged at his holds again, trying to break free and look around, trying to figure out what was happening.  But then shotgun guy got his act together and levelled the barrel of his shotgun in the middle of Spencer’s forehead.

 

“What are you doing!?” he snapped, racking the gun.  Spencer froze.

 

“For fuck’s sake, it’s not him,” the woman snapped, grabbing the barrel and tugging it down and away.  “Fuck this up and  _I’ll_  kill you after Don does, you son of a bitch.  Come on.”

 

She knelt down and rustled through a bag for a moment before pulling a knife free.  It was sheathed, and it’s a good thing it was, since she tossed it at the kid who nearly pissed himself trying to catch it.  “Watch the camp,” she snapped. “We’ll be back.”

 

“You’re just going to  _leave me here!?”_  he croaked, and the answer was apparently ‘yes’ as the two stomped past Spencer and away through the woods.  A few seconds later, movement to the left caught Spencer’s attention and his eyes snapped to follow it. It was gone just as quickly, but only a few more seconds passed before a second round of firecrackers went off, this one much closer to them than the first.

 

The boy spun on heel, knife held in front of him.  “I’m warnin’ ya!” he shouted, voice shaking. “Show yourself!”

 

Spencer saw it this time, out of the boy’s sight, as someone obviously human darted out from behind one tree and hid behind another.  Spencer frowned at it, then quickly averted his eyes not to give it away.

 

A glass bottle hit a tree immediately to Spencer’s left, exploding into a shower of glass and stale Dr. Pepper.  Spencer winced away from the glass shower as the boy spun to face it, knife still held out in front of him. As he spun to look, though, Spencer saw the figure from earlier dart out of the woods behind him, and just like that a boy with a rag tied around the lower-half of his face and werewolf claws was barrelling into the other, taking them both down in a tangle of limbs and curses.  

 

With good bit of tumbling and a few cuts to the wolf boy’s arms, he eventually managed to grab the knife out of the hunter’s hand and throw it.  It tumbled through the dirt and disappeared under a bush. They rolled onto Spencer’s legs, and he kicked at them. Someone’s pant leg caught on fire, and the hunter boy screamed, distracted enough for the other to get the upper hand and punch him right across the jaw- once, twice, three times and the kid went limp.  The masked boy scrambled off of him, dragging him away from the fire and slapping at the fire to put it out. He hissed in a breath and looked at his hands, which were angry and red. Burnt.

 

The footsteps grew closer, and both Spencer and the wolf boy snapped to look at it.  The kid leapt to his feet and ran, ducking back behind a tree, and Spencer was stuck there staring wide eyed at the unconscious boy by his feet.  He kicked at the ground, pushing back and trying to move out of the way. The other two came running into the clearing, and they stopped to stare slack-jawed at their companion.  

 

The shotgun guy whirled on Spencer again, gun raised and ready.  “What did you do to him!?” he shouted. Spencer shook his head frantically, and the guy growled.  Entirely human. A pained groan sounded next to him, and Spencer glanced over to see Jon stir, eyebrows drawn tight together and eyes still shut as he came to.  Spencer breathed a sigh of relief, and then immediately choked on it when the hunter turned his shotgun to him instead.

 

“Playing possum, huh?” he asked Jon, and Spencer shook his head again, trying to make noise and draw more attention.  The lady narrowed her eyes at him. Spencer kicked out, trying to hit  _somebody_ , and then several things happened very, very quickly.

 

Something else flew out of the trees- this time a rock- and it hit the shotgun guy square in the back of the head.  He stumbled, almost dropped the gun, and Spencer shoved up off the ground and kicked his hands when he stepped close enough, knocking the gun out of his hands and into the dirt next to the fire.  The hunter scrambled to grab it, and then the wolf-kid was back, throwing himself on the man and knocking him off balance. They fought, tumbling to the ground, hands tearing at each other, but Spencer was quickly distracted as the largest figure he’d ever seen came barrelling out of the woods.  He threw his head back, and a roar split the air.

 

It wasn’t entirely wolf, but it definitely wasn’t human.  Eight feet tall and beast-like, fur overtaking its body, claws rupturing from the skin of its hands easily twice the size of Spencer’s own, eyes feral and features wolf-like, but legs pretty close to human.  It crashed into the woman, throwing her aside effortlessly. She flew sideways and hit a tree back first, then tumbled to the ground like a ragdoll. He grabbed the other hunter, tearing him and the boy apart.  The wolf-boy kicked out, snarling and scratching at the monster’s arm with claws that drew blood. He was tossed aside quickly, and he collapsed where he hit the ground, legs giving out on him. The wolf-man made quick work of ripping a knife from the hunter’s shaking hands and tossing it into the fire, then slamming the man back against a tree so hard that he immediately fell unconscious.  He dropped him on the ground as well, and then another set of stumbling footsteps crashed into the clearing with them.

 

Spencer looked up and saw Brendon, who’s face looked horrified as Zack shifted in front of them, changing in an unsettling display of shifting bones and rolling skin, receding hair and softening features that left him mostly human, teeth still sharp and eyes still gold.

 

“I told you to stay back,” he snapped, but didn’t bother saying anything else as he gathered the two fallen hunters and made quick work of stealing the hunter’s own rope and tying them together.  “Check Jon,” Zack ordered. “Still breathing?”

 

Brendon scrambled to do so, falling to his knees next to him and pressing an ear to his chest.  Zack grabbed a canteen out of a bag and dumped it on the fire, coughing as he did so. “Put this over your face,” he said, sniffing a shirt from that same bag and tossing it to Brendon.  “This shit’ll make you sick.” Brendon did so, wrapping it around his mouth and nose and tying it tight. Zack didn’t bother doing the same, instead going to Spencer and crouching at his side, taking a knife and hacking at the ropes holding him there.

 

“You hurt?” he asked, and Spencer shook his head.  Zack got through the ropes, then unhooked the buckle on the back of his head.  Spencer gagged again and spit off to the side when it was finally off. Zack tossed it away from them.  “Jon’s worse,” he gasped. “Got shot. Hit his head.”

 

“Who’s that?” Zack asked, and Spencer glanced over to the wolf-kid on the ground next to him.  He shook his head. The kid looked up, eyes panicked. Zack frowned at him, like he was about to say something, but before he could get the chance the boy was lurching back to his feet.  He lost his balance and shoved off a tree behind him, trying to run, but two steps in he doubled over on himself and collapsed again, arms wrapping around his stomach. His shirt was soaked through with blood.

 

“He helped,” Spencer said as Zack went to him.  He didn’t pay attention to them, though, instead shaking the ropes off his arms.  He dragged himself over next to Jon, nudging Brendon away gently, and made quick work of untying the ropes on his arms and ankles.  It stung where the rope touched Spencer’s fingertips, and Jon’s skin underneath was red and raw, blistered in some places. So were Spencer’s wrists.

 

“He’ll be fine,” Spencer said, either to Brendon or himself.  He bit and tore a piece of the shirt Jon was wearing and balled it up to stop the blood coming out of his head.  “He’s okay.”

 

Brendon nodded silently, and Zack stood, the young man hefted over his shoulder.  “Can you walk?” he asked, and Spencer nodded. Zack stooped back down and looked through the bag, slipped a few knives and a case of bullets into the pocket of his cargo pants, hissing and shaking out his hand after touching the glistening metal.  “Grab that gun by you, Brendon. Spence, I need you to carry Jon. We better get the hell out of here.”

 

Spencer nodded, awkwardly worming his arms under Jon and hauling him up, doing his best not to hurt him in the process.  Jon was unresponsive and entirely dead weight. Brendon looked particularly nauseous as he picked the gun up off the ground and held it against his side.  “Okay,” Zack said. “Good. Let’s-”

 

And suddenly there was a pop, like the air cracking in half around them, and then a puff of smoke.  Pete Wentz fell out of the air, wearing the stupidest outfit Spencer had ever seen, some nerdy kid with band t-shirt and a mop of curly hair falling out of the sky next to him.  Pete landed on his feet, and the other kid smacked into the ground belly first. Pete looked around, mouth hanging open, at the scene in front of him.

 

“You have  _got_  to be fucking kidding me.”

 

* * *

 

 

Pete showed up just in time to help with recon.  He got them all back to the house, teleporting them two at a time and nearly shaking from exertion when they’d all been gathered properly.  Zack didn’t know much about how Pete’s powers worked, or about elves in general, but he knew there were limits, and judging by the medieval times regalia Pete had shown up in, he’d had a hell of a trip back to Colorado in the first place.

 

That didn’t stop him from teleporting one more time, popping off as Zack got everyone settled, and appearing minutes later with a man sporting a red goatee and a doctor’s bag.  Pete was sweaty and ashen, and he retreated to the couch while Zack and the doctor got to work.

 

Zack knew basic first aid- setting broken bones, checking for concussions, patching up burns.  He could manage some stitches if he had a gun to his head. It was common sense to give Dr. Hurley to Jon and the other kid, let him to the actual work of keeping them from croaking.  He had Pete’s other friend to help him out, someone to follow orders and fetch tools and stop bleeding. Zack set them up in his bedroom and left them to it, hustling Spencer and Brendon into the kitchen to look after their injuries.

 

His biggest concern was wolfsbane poisoning.  Brendon was fine, barely a headache to show for it, but Spencer was only pretending not to be hurt while he pitched a fit and demanded looking after Jon.  He had first and second degree silver burns on his wrists, and Zack couldn’t tell if the vomiting was from the wolfsbane or the concussion. He didn’t have any memory loss, though, and he was conscious, so Zack patched him up, stuck a bag of ice on his head, and called it a day.  Brendon took a glass of water to Pete and settled down next to him, and Zack watched over Spencer in the kitchen and wondered how exactly to approach him when Spencer looked so close to tears.

 

It felt like hours before Dr. Hurley finally opened the bedroom door again and let them in.  Jon was fine, the silver in the bullet cauterizing the wound as it tore it open. They fished the bullet out of him and patched up his head, and Hurley even gave Zack permission to transfer him to the living room to give them both more space.  

 

Jon didn’t stir in his arms as Zack relocating him, and it made him sick.  He couldn’t believe all of this had happened under his nose. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t gotten there quicker, hadn’t stopped it in the first place.

 

He was out of practice.  He’d seen worse things with Maggie during the riots back in the day.  He’d learned everything he knew about fighting and medicine in the midst of the blood bath.  He should be able to handle it.

 

But this was his kid, God damn it, and the fact that he’d watched the boy grow up made it hit a little too close to home.

 

The other boy- the mystery kid- was fine too.  He’d lost a hell of a lot of blood, but not quite enough to cross the line between dangerous and life threatening.  Andy set him up with stitches and fluids and took care of everything. He had burns and cuts and apparently malnourishment.  He was filthy and far too thin, and Zack wondered who he was and where in the hell he’d come from.

 

He hadn’t gotten any stories about it, yet.  Couldn’t bare to ask Spencer to rehash everything just yet.  

 

Hurley left them with a handwritten list of instructions, a hospital’s worth of medical supplies, and a phone number.  “Sorry to meet you like this,” he said from the doorway. He and his helper had cleaned up in the sink, but there were still bloodstains on their pajamas.  “Feel free to call me. Everyone should be just fine.”

 

Zack lended Pete his car keys to get them all home, since he was still pale and shaky when it was time to head home.  The assistant promised to drive, snatching the keys right out of his hand, and Pete said he’d return the car the following morning.

 

They left the house in uncomfortable silence, and Zack didn’t move for a long time.  Not until Brendon started nodding off next to him, and Zack came out of his stupor enough to shoo them both off to bed and check on the mystery kid again.  

 

Spencer was exactly where he left him when Zack came back, and Zack didn’t have the heart to say anything.  He went over and sat next to him on the coffee table, dropping an arm around the kid’s shoulders and pulling him tight against his side.

 

“He’s gonna be just fine,” he said.  “The doctor said so, remember?”

 

Spencer’s voice was gravelly and monotone as he replied, “He looked dead.”

 

Zack squeezed him a little.  “He’s not,” he promised. “See that?  He’s breathing. It’s fine.”

 

There was silence between them for a while as Jon slept silently and Zack counted his breaths.  He’d have to call Maggie and tell her about this. He wouldn’t be surprised if she flew out to Colorado immediately just to check on them herself.  

 

Eventually Spencer shifted next to him, and Zack looked down to find him hiding his face in his hands, elbows propped up on his knees.  Zack rubbed his back, and Spencer’s shoulders hitched, almost like he was laughing.

 

“I’ve never felt that fucking useless,” he whispered, then shot up to his feet and paced away from the couch.  He blinked hard, turning away from Zack and digging his hands into his eyes for a moment. He cleared his throat and said, “I need to- I’m making coffee? Do you want coffee?” words coming out to fast.

 

Zack studied him for a moment before deciding that discretion was the better part of valor.  He nodded and pushed himself up to his feet. It was two o’clock in the afternoon. Coffee sounded excellent.

 

“Sure,” he said, and Spencer let out a quick breath, looking like he was talking himself down from panic.

 

“Okay,” he said quickly, and then nodded.  “Okay. Cool.” He turned and headed towards the kitchen, and Zack knew they were going to have to talk about it.  He’d have to fix this eventually. But he could let it lay for a day. He could have some coffee and stick close and keep telling himself that the two boys laid out in his house weren’t going to drop dead in front of him.  Everything was fine.

 

“Cool,” Zack repeated, and followed him into the kitchen.

 

* * *

 

 

When Will woke up she had no idea where she was.  She was an expert at waking up in strange places these days, but it was rare that she woke up in a  _room_  with a  _bed_.  She surveyed the scene- four walls and a ceiling, a bed, a desk, a bookshelf.  She shifted, tried to move, found a sharp pain in her stomach.

 

Everything hurt- stinging hands, a pounding head, and aching limbs, her entire body one bruise- but the pain in her stomach was incredible.  She managed enough energy to lift back the blankets and look down at herself. She was naked, spare a pair of sweatpants that did  _not_  belong to her.  Taped over a massive portion of her lower abdomen was a piece of gauze, white and clean.  The top of the pants she was wearing were tinged a coppery brown under the wound, and nearby there sat a waste basket overflowing with red stained rags and bandages.  The whole room smelled like blood.

 

She risked sitting up and found it manageable with a small amount of grinding teeth.  Then she swung his legs over the edge and bit her cheek from the pain that came with standing.  Feet under her, she braced a hand on the wall and took several deep breaths to stop her head from spinning.  Her hand was wrapped in bandages, and it ached where it touched the wall, but that was small potatoes compared to her stomach. It hurt like nothing she’d ever imagined, but she could handle it with enough oxygen if she paced herself.

 

She didn’t have time to pace himself.  She scolded herself from bothering to help those chucklefucks in the first place as she took a closer look around the room and considered his options.  Gauze and bottles and unrecognizable medical objects sat on the desk in the corner. A prick of pain caught her attention, and she followed the pain of an IV sticking out of her arm up to a bag of clear fluids hanging haphazardly from a light fixture attached to the wall.  She held his breath as she peeled back the tape and yanked the IV out, scrambling to grab gauze from the desk and stop the bleeding. She taped it down messily with one hand and caught her breath again.

 

She had to get out of there.  She wished she had his backpack and hoped those hunters hadn’t gotten their hands on her stuff.  Moving as silently as she could, she found a handful of oversized t-shirts in a dresser drawer. She pulled on two, then started stuffing her pockets.  One she filled with medical supplies- gauze, a bottle of painkillers, tape. She stuffed a bottle of something she hoped was antiseptic in the other pocket, along with thirty-two dollars in cash she found sitting on the dresser, a watch, and a pocket knife.  She tugged a brown beanie cap onto her head and found her shoes by the door. Her clothes were all but ruined, guessing from the way her stomach was bleeding, and she took it upon herself to borrow a pair of socks from the dresser.

 

The pain that came from leaning down to tie her shoes was absolutely nauseating, but Will managed.  The clock on the nightstand said it was nine forty-five p.m. She wondered how long she’d been asleep, how long they’d had her here: hours or days?  God willing they hadn’t called the fucking cops.

 

She had three more feats of incredible effort in wrenching the window open, climbing out, and scrambling through the yard and into the woods behind it.  She had no idea where she was or how to get back to her campsite, but she had plenty of time to figure it out. Nice and easy, she just had to take her time and watch her back.   

 

She could do this.

 

Will spared a glance back at the house and adjusted the loot in her pockets, then disappeared into the night.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> If you comment on my dumbass werewolf novel I will literally cry in front of my computer. That is to say, comments are appreciated. 
> 
> wolf-verse.tumblr.com  
> punks-n-rec.tumblr.com


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